


Bow So Low

by starforged



Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark!Alina happens here, F/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-15 20:20:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2242224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starforged/pseuds/starforged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Power is a greedy animal, all consuming and merciless. Alina thinks she can be the balance to the Darkling’s desires, but she is not immune to what is infinite.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Salvation

**Author's Note:**

> An AU where Mal dies, Alina doesn't lose her power, and the Darkling gets to live.

**o.**

" _You might make me a better man."_

" _And you might make me a monster."_

**i.**

The light filled her so completely, she didn't believe that her mortal body would still exist when she came back down. Alina found, through this surge of power, that she did not want to come back down. She wanted the sun and the stars, could feel her exploding with their intensity, dragging it through her veins and letting her nerves catch on fire. She could taste blood in her mouth and smell the way it crackled on her fingers - Mal's blood, coating her hands. Driving the knife into his chest. Listening to him die.

Her head was thrown back, mouth opened wide as she screamed, screamed with power and grief as light filled every corner of the darkness. Her cry was joined by so many others, a cacophony of pain and agony that elated her. She wasn't alone. She would never be alone again. The screams of terror whispered that to her, pressing gently against the tide of light.

And in the distance, she heard her name. A gentle caress of syllables from a lover she had wanted and feared and could want again. That was what the syllables of her name told her, said over and over again.

Alina.

_Alina._

Say it again.

She wasn't sure if she spoke it or felt it, her words spoken with her power as if speech were beyond what she had become in this moment. Antlers at her throat, scales on the pulse of her wrist, Mal's blood etched into her skin.

"Mine."

**ii.**

Alina did not destroy the Fold that day. She did not destroy the Darkling like she had meant to. Too overwhelmed by her own selfishness - _the universe and the greed of men_ \- she let him fold her into his arms and tame the swelling storm that came with three amplifiers. His fingers stroked along the antlers that were as much his as they were hers.

"You made the right choice," he whispered to her. He did not care that her army - her _friends_ \- took the advantage given to them by their moment to escape the Fold.

A faint glow under her skin cast shadows across his face, and for a moment, she could lie to herself and say that it was Mal holding her, Mal telling her that she had done the right thing.

**iii.**

Bone encircled her empty wrist. A rib, made in a hasty request as she quelled the force that begged to be let out.

A bone that was close to his heart.

Alina wasn't sure how she got the Darkling to agree to let her wear it, but she wondered if perhaps he was overshadowed by what she had become.

**iv.**

It was hard to pinpoint the exact moment that Alina decided to take the Darkling's hand, her fingers entwined with his as they stood within the Fold and didn't leave. She could hardly say how long they waited in the darkness while his Grisha cowled in fear and awe, while the volcra died out around them. The few that remained stayed far away from the girl who glowed.

She knew that she did not agree with the boy that was once Aleksander. She knew that deep in her heart, in the roll of her stomach at the feel of his cool flesh against hers. She knew that every time she turned her wrist and felt Mal scrape against her as a constant reminder.

But she also knew that she couldn't be alone anymore. That only the Darkling would understand what it was inside of her. That she would consume anyone else who got too close, as if she could burn them alive if they did.

She was unnatural.

"What now?" she finally asked with a hoarse voice, surprised that it was her speaking.

His face, cast in eternal shadow against her glow, revealed a smile. A softness around his lips that belied the darkness of his slate eyes. He was content, she realized. He was beautiful. She felt a tugging in her bones that made her want him, as if finally, _finally_ , she was able to do something right.

"You chose me." The way he said it made it sound like she had no choice. Maybe she didn't. Maybe she never had. Maybe her acts of rebellion were always a design to do exactly as he had wanted.

"Will you make me your queen, Aleksander?" Despite herself, she could feel a smirk tugging at her own lips. Her power made her bold. Her power made her his equal - and his slave. But from the look he gave her, she could see that the bond went both ways.

"Tell me what you want, Alina."

As if she were allowed to have a choice. His fingers tightened around hers, and she narrowed his gaze at her. Was this a test? What was the right answer?

Kill him, the fragile part of her whispered. Be done with him and everything he will do and had done. Disappear into the world before you become him.

But she ignored that part of herself. She was no longer a scared girl, but something far more. She was eternal. She was life. And she could reign in the parts of Aleksander that were undesirable.

"I want to negotiate."

He wanted the throne.

She wanted the safety and pardons of her friends.

He wanted the execution of the Soldat Sol.

She wanted the monster that was once Nikolai to live.

He wanted her to wear a _kefta_ of black.

**v.**

Only David and Genya return to the Little Palace, a month after the Darkling marched on Os Alta and took the throne for his own.

"Ravka will be safe," he promised in that lilting voice of his. He sounded sincere. He sounded as though he cared. "No longer will we fear war. No longer will Grisha be terrorized."

The Darkling's Ravka did not include _otkazat'sya_.

Alina's Ravka did. She would be his balance, she told herself as they stood in the middle of the capital. A crowd of the weary gather in the square to view the spectacle laid out before them.

She stood next to him, her face stony, her hand resting in the crook of his arm like a good supporter of the new regime. Even after a month, she could not yet figure out how to dampen the glow beneath her skin. The black silk of her _kefta_ was good for one thing, at the very least.

The remainders of her army, with their bright suns tattooed onto their faces watched her as if she would deliver them from this fate. Save us, their eyes seemed to say to her. She wanted to look away, but the moment her head moved, she could feel the cool touch of the Darkling's hands on her chin, bringing her back to them and the creak of ropes as their bodies swung.

"Long live the Darkling!" an _oprichniki_ proclaimed. "Long live the Sun Summoner!"

Chants of _tsar_ and _tsaritsa_ drifted from the crowd.

Alina wanted to hate it, but she could feel herself clinging to their words. To their acceptance. She wanted them to love her, worship her, fear her for what she was. The creak of her soldiers mingled with the chant, as if providing the music for words that were sealing her coffin.

Her left wrist burned something fierce. Her chest ached with something like sorrow that couldn't be expressed. And when she was able to glance away from the corpses to look at the Darkling instead, she saw that he was watching her already.

Testing her.

Feeling her.

Making sure she wouldn't run, that she wouldn't abandon him now when he had come so far.

Her fingers pressed roughly into his arm, hard enough to feel bone through silk and flesh. "You will not go back on our deal now that you've gotten your end sealed, will you?"

His lip curled, eyes flashing hotly. Once, she thought, she would have shivered at the look. Would have been afraid. But he wasn't the sun, no matter how desperately he wanted to possess. "You've taken Ravka with me, and yet I'm still your villain, Alina." His voice was low, harsh in her ear. His breath puffed out against her cheek.

"You will _always_ be my villain, Aleksander."

He stiffened at the sound of his name spoken so publicly.

"Just like I'll always be your salvation, right?" For the first time since before Mal's death, a quiet smile curled at the corner of her mouth. It hurt, as if the muscles didn't quite understand what being upturned meant or how to even keep the expression.

"I've lost you more than once, Alina," he said softly. There was an air around him - not quite sad, not defeated, but bordering on the two. He was as much her slave as his, she reminded herself again. "I don't think you would go away if I killed him, but I will respect this one absurd desire of yours."

She tilted her head, now that he had freed her enough for movement. In the darkness of one of the buildings, she could see the still body of a monster that waited, perched.

_Nikolai._

He hadn't perished in the Fold along with the closest volcra. He hadn't been healed either. Her mouth went dry as their eyes met, even from this great distance. When they had been in negotiations, Alina wanted to ask the Darkling to free Nikolai from the shadows, but she had known that his death would have soon followed.

The Darkling followed the line of her gaze, face like stone when he caught sight of the monster he had created.

Nikolai was a threat as a human. As this being, he was nothing more than a child's tale.

This was the best that she could do for her friend until she had the power and expertise to use _mervost_.

"Come, Alina."

The Darkling dragged her away, a scowl permanently etched on his face as he led her back to the carriage that awaited them.

**vi.**

The throne she sat on was hard against her back, forcing her straighter than she had ever been, the weight of the royal crown threatening to snap her neck.

But she endured the pain with a faintly painted smile on her lips. Ravka needed balance, and she was the only one who could give it to them now.


	2. Tsaritsa

**i.**

"You're a queen now, and you still can't ask for a different color," Genya laughed, voice brittle as she took in Alina dressed in her black silk.

As always, Alina was unable to meet her friend's eyes, as if she had betrayed everything that Genya had sacrificed for by reuniting with the Darkling. When she was able to look at the other woman, for the briefest of seconds, she saw nothing but pity and concern. She wondered if those just weren't the emotions she was feeling in those seconds that their eyes met.

What kind of queen, what kind of star, was she if she couldn't even look at her friend.

Genya still wore red - she had earned it, after all. The Darkling had looked at her and David coolly when they had returned, following his missive that they would be pardoned. Misha had followed them, Oncat draped over his shoulder, but the Darkling had not noticed him.

Why would he?

She wore red, her face immaculate except for the eyepatch where her eye once was, a patchwork of scars scrawled over her skin. She had held her head up when she faced the Darkling, Alina scarcely breathing.

They had been welcome back. He had agreed, after all.

"I could ask for it," Alina told Genya, picking at the gold threads in her sleeve with a bit of unease. She was wearing the Darkling's colors, yes, but it wasn't because of their marriage. It wasn't because she was his queen; it was because she was in mourning.

"Will you?"

Alina moved restlessly, the muscles in her legs aching. She was tired of sitting, and she was tired of standing endlessly, too. She was tired of the taut smiles and the demonstrations and of the Fold that still stood and of the bones that wrapped around her wrist like an anchor.

Mostly, she was tired that didn't seem to be tired at all. Light continued to flood her body, splashing a soft glow on the floor and elongating Genya's shadow as she paced.

"You're driving me crazy, Alina, will you stop?"

For the first time in the few months that her friend had returned, Genya touched her. Her fingers wrapped firmly around Alina's wrist, forcing her to stop. She didn't make a sound, but her lips formed a silent exclamation. How good it felt to have someone else's hands on her other than the Darkling.

"Sorry. I'm nervous," she confessed.

Genya arched an eyebrow, as though she didn't quite believe her. "Nervous? I have never seen anyone so confident before. Besides me. And Zoya."

At Zoya's name, Alina's mouth tugged into a frown. Strange how much she missed her when she was suddenly gone. "She probably hates me now."

"Probably," Genya agreed. "You were meant to set us free." Her voice dropped to a whisper now, and she stepped in closer so that it was only Alina that could hear her. "You weren't meant to become his queen, Alina."

Alina clenched her jaw. "I couldn't find another way, Genya. He has done terrible things, but so does everyone in war. Did we think we could kill him and then somehow prevent the Fjerdans and the Shu from invading us? What of the vacancy on the throne if we couldn't save Nikolai?"

"So rule with him."

Even as Alina said it, she knew there was something wrong about the words. She knew there was something wrong with the Darkling, too. He was a monster, a beast with the body of a man. She loved him, though. She loved him, and she hated him, and she needed him. There was no way she could explain that sort of feeling, the welling up of "like calls to like". Genya could never understand what it was to be what Alina had become with three amplifiers. She couldn't even be sure that the Darkling did, but he was the closest she could come to.

And if she could find a way to temper him, to quell the loneliness all these years had brought him, she had to try. In that sort of salvation, she believe that she could get him to see things her way.

"Plenty of people will follow him, through fear and desperation. And because they think he will save them."

"And they'll follow you because you're a living saint." Genya brushed her fingers through Alina's loose hair, a stark white strand curling under her expert touch. She sighed happily at the sight. "For someone who didn't want to accept an emerald and the alliance of a prince, you have certainly found your way into political structure."

She scowled, but not in anger. Distaste, mostly. How had she come to that point, or had it always been the Darkling tugging her along? No. She was adept at her own political machinations, and as she had once told him, she was an apt pupil.

"You have to trust me, Genya," she murmured, taking her friend's hand between her own and holding it tightly. "I am still the same Alina."

There was that bitter laugh again. "That Alina, the one who entered the Fold to kill the Darkling? She's the one who died that day, right along with Mal."

**ii.**

They were gathered in the war room, seated at a table that once held Mal and Nikolai and Zoya and now held the Darkling and his men instead. Alina sat next to him, and she took solace in his strength, in his ability to lead.

She snuck a glance at him, drinking in his profile, the way his brow would furrow at things he didn't like to hear, at the arch when he was intrigued. Mostly, she drank up the way his slate eyes found hers every now and then, as if he were drinking her in as well.

Strange, she thought, to be so attracted to someone she found she hated most of the time.

Strange, really, to not hate him as much as he deserved to be hated, too.

"What do you think, Alina?"

His voice cut through one of his underling's mid-speech. The whole room felt like a vacuum of silence. It was all she could do to not react in surprise. That would be a weakness, and she couldn't present herself as weak in front of this crowd of vultures.

In front of the Darkling.

Still, she was not prepared for the question. Alina felt more like a pet, a prop, than she did a leader in the army. But she had led the Second Army very briefly before she had helped the Darkling scurry into the hole left by the remnants of the Lantsov family. Not well, she thought, and not without help of the very people who now gathered an army of their own.

Her gut twisted, a streak of hot anger and nerves flitting through her.

"We need the First Army," she finally said, unable to stand the pressure of every pair of eyes boring into her.

The twitch in the corner of the Darkling's mouth told her that her answer was the wrong one, and that in itself made her feel like she was making the right decision.

"Why do you think so?" a man named Gregor asked, folding his hands on the table and leaning forward with a barely contained sneer. His _kefta_ was red as blood, and for a moment, Alina thought that she could see Mal's staining her hands again. Her heart hammered in her chest.

She tilted her chin up so that she could level a cold gaze at him, trying to emulate Zoya as much as she could. He was insignificant. Fodder. He could die as easily as Ivan had. "Ravka is not solely for Grisha. The people are just that: people. Some of us were born from _otkazat'sya_ , some of us have them as family. They deserve the right to fight for Ravka."

She turned to look at the Darkling now, pinning him down with her stare. He was blank in return. "Make them the Second Army. Promote the Grisha to the First. We cannot have peace in Ravka if we ostracize."

He frowned now. It was clear he didn't agree with her, in the tension that radiated between them.

Alina wouldn't be moved on the matter.

"I agree," Genya spoke up from the opposite side of the table. She wore a hard smile, lounging back in her seat as if she had no cared. Alina could see the tense lines of her body, however. "Even _otkazat'sya_ can defeat Grisha, and they outnumber us."

If Alina could have laughed in this instance, she would have.

Genya spun it in a way that even the Darkling looked interested.

**iii.**

He slammed her hard into the wall of the library, nearly knocking the breath out of her. His gaze was hot, terrifying. He could have scorched her alive if he wanted to, she thought.

The Darkling settled for constricting the light in the room, his shadowed hand pinning the wrist with Mal's bones to the wall. "What do you think you are doing?"

"I was going to read, but I guess now that it was the wrong idea." She tried to keep her voice light, teasing. She was a star, bright and terrible, but sometimes she was still a young girl in awe of a horrible man.

"I meant with your suggestion, Alina." His breath tickled her cheek. "You would have me taint the army with them again? After all that I worked for? That we achieved?"

There was a maddening light in his eyes, and she ached. She ached for the little boy he must have been and for the man he was, so blinded by his prejudice and coldness for those not like him.

"Haven't you already taken what you wanted? The throne is yours. _Ravka_ is yours. You wanted to save this country and keep the Grisha from becoming obsolete? You _have_. But there is more to Ravka than Grisha, and we both know it," she told him. This was something she wouldn't back down from. He could have Ravka and the army and Mal's bones wrapped in shadows. He could have her. But he couldn't take the truth from her.

He was quiet for a moment, fingers so tight around her wrist, she worried that he might be able to break her amplifier. "Do I have you?"

The question stunned her. Now that they were mostly alone, she allowed herself to show her surprise. It was in the widening of her eyes, in the tilt of her opinion of him, in the reduction of the white-hot anger that threatened to spill from her fingertips. "You didn't take me."

"No," he responded in a soft voice. "I didn't take you."

"Aleksander."

A visible shudder ran through his body, and his mouth hovered over hers. She wanted to cringe back in revulsion. A queen who didn't touch her king. What a mockery of marriage. But she wanted to, that other part of her whispered. She wanted him to kiss her and slip his hands under her clothes.

She wanted to forget the way that Mal had felt against her body so that the crushing loneliness of his loss didn't threaten to overwhelm her any longer. She was an immortal with the depth of a girl.

"Say my name again," he demanded from her.

"Will you kiss me?" Alina had to know.

"Say my name again, and I will kiss you wherever you please," the Darkling compromised.

"Aleksander."

His mouth was hard and demanding against hers, all desperation and teeth and a pounding need that swept over her from his touch. Like called to like, she remembered, as he pressed his body into the lines of hers.

**iv.**

In a public declaration for all of Os Alta to hear, with notice spreading like wildfire throughout Ravka, the Darkling let it be known that now and forever more, Grisha would be part of the First Army. They would be the salvation of Ravka, the first line of offense against her enemies.

Unease whispered behind closed doors and shuttered windows.

The Second Army was little more than a body of militarized corpses, the people said.

Alina closed her eyes to said words, wishing that people understood war was death.

**v.**

Sometimes, she would spot Nikolai in the distance. Always nearby, but never close. He hadn't come close to her since before Mal's death. Even as the months ticked by, there he remained. He was a gargoyle, a demonic shape shadowing her.

Today, he sat perched on the roof of the palace, so still that he really could have been a statue. She stopped, watching him as he watched her. She ached to call out to him, to ask him to come back to her.

Maybe he hated her, she wondered. Maybe he was her punishment for Mal's death, for failing to free him from his form, for taking the throne without him. He had wanted to make her his queen, and she had denied him that, hadn't she?

Alina knew, in her heart, that she would have never become his queen.

She finally lifted her hand. It was a wave, barely, some sort of friendly gesture to let him know that she was still here. His lifted as well, mirroring her.

Genya finally got up to her, breath puffing out in the cold air as she panted. "I thought I spotted you. What are you- _Oh._ "

Following her gaze, Genya spotted Nikolai as well. There was a sharp stab of worry that he would flee now, but he didn't. Genya rested her fingertips against her scarred face as she watched the former prince.

"He hangs around sometimes," was all that Alina could manage to say.

Her friend nodded. "He's here for you."

Alina gave a sharp shake of her head. "Os Alta is his home. Why wouldn't he be here?"

"Alina, you can be so very dense sometimes, and I say that as being married to David," Genya said.

Turning back to look at Nikolai, she wondered why he would stick around for her. She wasn't worth it. Unless…

"If it's because of me, it's because I might be the only one who can change him back."

But she couldn't. Not without the Darkling knowing. Not without him killing Nikolai.

It was difficult, but Alina turned her back on the hulking shadow on the roof, walking down a different path and forcing Genya to chase her again.

"Are you?" she finally asked when they were back inside.

The warmth of the Little Palace sunk into her bones as she slowly unwrapped the scarf from around her neck. How could she begin to answer that question? What could she tell Genya that wouldn't make her sound heartless?

"I need to study magic more," she muttered under breath, looking just beyond Genya's shoulder.

She could feel her friend's stare on her, evaluating. "Well, where do we start?" Her voice was shaky, as if she couldn't be sure why she was volunteering for _mervost_.

Alina gave a crooked smile. "Maybe David would know."


	3. Wasteland

**i.**

Little secrets should be good, Alina thought to herself as she watched the Darkling pace about the room. Their room. She sat at a bench before her vanity table, eyes following him. Hair wet from a bath, shirtless. He was distracted, irritated, like a caged animal, but still she let her gaze slide over the muscles in his body, the way they flexed with each turn, with each clench of his fists.

It had been a year and a half since they had taken Ravka for their own, slowly building from the ground up. She was surprised by that, by his patience in not making everyone bow to him immediately. Maybe it was her influence, she wondered, lip caught between her teeth gently.

Maybe he had always been right about what she could do for him. He was not better, not by the standards of Mal or Nikolai, but for himself?

"What's wrong?" Alina asked as she leaned back against her table, elbows propped up on the ornate wood.

He finally stopped pacing, swiveling to turn and face her. "It isn't enough."

"What do you mean?"

He smiled at her, the edges of it hard and cruel, sending a flutter through her stomach. "Ravka isn't safe yet, Alina. Not while her enemies are still out there."

She thought of the Fold and when he had used her to envelop Novokribirsk. Faintly, she felt the same fear and anger as she had then, but now she felt something different - a certain _rightness_ to it. Not to use it on Ravka and her people anymore, but to use their power against Ravka's enemies.

She was not a good queen, not by any stretch of the word. She was, as she had always been designed to be, a figurehead. But she felt the fire of fierce protection, of wanting better for Ravka. She wanted an end to wars and watching her people suffer.

"Who do you want to take?"

He moved closer to her, standing between her knees as he leaned down over her. "It's not about taking, Alina."

She gave him a hard smile. For Aleksander, it was about taking and calling it justice. Calling it a necessary tactic that he believed would settle the matter.

"Tell me what your plans are, Aleksander, and how can I help you with them?"

A momentary flash of surprise takes over his face, quartz eyes narrowing even as his eyebrows rose high on his pale forehead. Alina buried the worry that sprung up at the look deep inside of her. She had not been what he had wanted from her, slowly coming around to the idea of _queen_.

His hands came down on either side of her, forcing her back until the wood of the table pressed hard into her spine. One jolt of pain, barely worthy of recognition. He was close enough that his breath mingled with hers, dancing over the lines of her mouth.

Saints, she wanted him. It was a sudden jolt of realization, more painful than the way her spine curved. Her glow cast shadows over his skin, and it was so fitting, that she could do more than stare. Not that she had never had this thought before, had never succumbed to the temptation of his body before this, but she had always tried to bury it after.

Not a good queen. Not a good saint. Not a good wife.

Her fingers danced along the edge of his jaw, watching the way her inner light splayed over his face, the way it twisted to make him both lovesick man and dangerous monster. The way it made her want him all the more. She was not good at what she was trying to do, but damn if she didn't feel as though she was taming the beast.

"Your plan," she whispered in the minute space between them. Alina would do better, she promised herself. She had to. For Ravka, for Mal's sacrifice, for her own sanity. For a boy named Aleksander with a dream.

He still didn't answer her, as if fascinated by her easy light show, by her frank interest when it had always been him to initiate anything between the two of them. He kissed her, hard and needy, teeth nipping at her lip, tongue soothing over the bite. And then he grabbed her hand still lingering at his jaw, enveloping each bright fingertip in his darkness as he kissed them as well.

"I will hear no objections from you?"

The plan was not said yet, wasn't laid out at her feet, but he was still extracting a promise from her before he would tell her.

Alina would have to agree, or there would be nothing for her to watch over.

She thought of Novokribirsk again, of the screams of the people as the volcra launched themselves at a new source of food, of the little boy's face. She thought of Zoya's angry words about the family she had lost there, killed by the Darkling. For a moment, a shadow descends over her as well, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. There was no darkness in Alina's life now, except for what she welcomed into it.

"No," she answered in a soft voice. "You will hear no objections from me. It's time we showed Ravka that we mean to keep her safe."

His hands dropped to her hips, fingers digging sharply into the bone beneath her flimsy nightgown. "I promised, Alina, there would be no more borders."

He lifted her onto the vanity table, kicking the bench aside as he moved between her thighs. Her legs hooked around his, drawing him in closer, her hands moving along the bare expanse of his chest.

She should be horrified. Maybe she was, but only of the past horrors she had seen come from what they could do together. Of what the Darkling would do when not stopped, when he was angry with her or desperate or willing to do what it took for his home. Now, she felt a thrill of excitement, as dark and twisted as her desire for him pooling into her gut and setting her veins on fire. This was what power felt like. It felt like drowning, it felt like victory.

It felt like love.

**ii.**

Fjerda. His plan was Fjerda.

Genya stood next to Alina. They both stood out, vibrant, harsh. Somehow, Genya had convinced Alina to let her do her hair, and it was pulled back in a crisp bun, held together by gold pins.

 _We're not here to negotiate peace,_ Alina told her.

But Genya smiled, her good eye dancing with mischief. _Then we better look twice as good for destruction_.

She wondered if that was really how her friend felt, if she was okay with what they were doing.

Genya had been okay with it before, though, hadn't she? Before the nichevo'ya had gotten to her.

A dull throb rose up in Alina's shoulder at the thought. Not now, she reminded herself. Now was not the time to have doubts, to question the people around her - including herself.

Two women stood side by side, staring out at the field around them as they waited for the Darkling.

"Will he create another Shadow Fold?" Genya whispered under her breath, so quiet that Alina had to strain to hear it.

Will he create more darkness, was what her friend was really asking. Would Alina allow him to swallow more people whole, _innocent_ people. Or was that just Alina's own paranoia?

Was everything anyone said to her anymore a lie, a ploy to get her to talk?

Was Aleksander the only one who was forthright with her anymore?

That was laughable, to suddenly find herself in a position where her husband might be the most honest person in her life.

The look Genya was giving her was guarded, one finely plucked eyebrow arching at Alina. She was waiting for an answer. She was hoping that _Sankta_ Alina might still be in there.

Alina couldn't be so sure of that, anymore.

She folded her hands into the muff she wore, both to keep herself warm but to also hide the glow of her skin. Better to not let too many people catch her light as they hid in the shadows of the forest.

"We aren't here to negotiate," Alina finally said.

Genya rolled her eyes. "I had realized that when we decided to camp in the wilderness, despite the fact that one would think the _tsar_ and _tsaritsa_ of Ravka could go where they would please and still be welcomed into any court." She sniffed indignantly.

Despite herself, the situation, her doubts, Alina laughed. It was a light sound, soft and young. It brought a smile to Genya's face and a scowl to a few of the nearby oprichiniki who surrounded them.

Sour faces, all of them.

"How much of the world are you willing to let him take, Alina?"

A good question. "He has only made one Fold, Genya. Once we show the world the might of our power, they couldn't possibly continue to stand against us, could they?"

The look Genya gave her was pitying, as if she couldn't understand why Alina couldn't understand. And she really didn't. This was the plan, to take one country and make it a victim so that the world would see what would happen to them if they threatened Ravka, if they didn't fall into line.

Her pulse fluttered rapidly.

"Alina…" Genya reached out, placing a hand on the queen's arm. "I say this because I am on your side. I am here for you, and also for what you think is best for Ravka."

She bit her lip. "You think we shouldn't-"

"I _think_ that you shouldn't allow him to be the one who decides what the world is remade into," she whispered.

Genya was right. Alina stayed with him to be his balance. Instead, she was simply holding his chains from the shadows he had created for her.

Glancing down, she stared at her covered hands for a moment before dragging a dark gaze back up to Genya's face. Her friend's mouth was puckered in a stern expression, her eyepatch looking even more fierce now than it had been.

"No more Shadow Folds, Genya," Alina promised.

**iii.**

The Darkling took her hand, calling to her power. They were in a valley outside of Djerholm, capital of Fjerda. Their army was small, so as to not draw too much attention, but Alina couldn't see how they would be unable to draw attention. Their brightly colored _keftas_ were a dead giveaway, especially in a country that reviled Grisha.

A bitter taste filled her mouth as she remember Harshaw and the tale of his brother.

Fjerda had to be the one who learned their lesson, she agreed. It was easy to see the reasoning behind her husband's ideas, but she would not so blindly let herself be swept away by them anymore. She would weigh each one for herself. They were partners.

He had shackled her so that they could rule equally, and this was what she would do.

Alina pulled her hand out of his grasp, and he jerked his head in her direction.

"Alina."

They would free the Grisha from the fear Fjerda held over them. _She_ would give them freedom and release to join the First Army of Ravka. Finally, Fjerda would know what fear of burning would be like.

"I can't let you create another Fold, Aleksander," she said under her breath. His own hitched at the sound of his name. She was always too daring, barely whispering his truth in front of others.

"You said there would be no objections." Anger flared in his face, but she wouldn't back down from this, not anymore than she had about keeping the First Army.

"I'm not objecting to making them bow," she whispered fiercely.

Behind them, their army shifted uncomfortably.

"Then what is it?"

"You have proven your power once before. You have shown Ravka what you could do, and they have fallen in line," Alina pointed out.

He leaned back, staring at her with more curiosity than anger now. "You wish to be the one to do it?"

"I _will_ be the one who does it."

**iv.**

Years later, hundreds of them, Djerholm would still be nothing more than a crater of ash and death. Few survived who could say accurately what had happened, and more stories than truths blossomed from that moment.

Alina walked away from the Darkling, out of the shadows of the mountain. Her breath puffed in front of her in the cold air, clouds marring the sky, but she was still able to find the sun. She drew in its power, felt the weight of her amplifiers as she held out her arms. Behind her came several hisses and cries of pain as those looking directly at their queen nearly went blind.

Her world was a visions of whites and yellows and blue twisting into swirls and stars. Heat gripped her body and crawled up her throat as she called forth her power.

Alina was not sure what she would do, or how she would do it. Whatever lessons she had been secretly taking with David - who was not at all happy nor completely knowledgeable about the inner workings of magic - were not enough to create anything as grand as the Shadow Fold. And no, she wouldn't allow the people to suffer the same fates of darkness as the Darkling had. She still had nightmares about the human screams of the volcra as much as she had about the deaths of her army, about nearly everything else that haunted her these days.

This would either be one more small piece to add to the pile or something she could live with during her long, unnatural life.

Scorched earth filled her nostrils, heat washing over her again and again. Until the Darkling rested his hand on her shoulder, snuffing her out. When Alina opened her eyes, what lay before her was something indescribable. Beautiful and harsh, the ground black and scorched. The snow had melted, but so had the dirt and the grass beneath, the trees scorched, and the city beyond them nothing but pillars of death.

Alina took a shuddering breath at the damage she had caused. She should feel horror. She should be ashamed and shocked and trembling with regret.

Aleksander wrapped an arm around her waist, soaking in everything before him with a small smile.

When they both finally turned away after what seemed like hours, she found their men on their knees before her. They were slack jawed, eyes wide with terror and awe and a sort of worship that she knew well when she had been a saint.

" _Sol Koroleva."_

Alina felt pleased.

**v.**

Only Genya did not bow before her.

**vi.**

Fjerda, as was planned, fell into such swift disarray that they did not dare put up a protest against the invasion of Ravka into its borders, both armies working in tandem to secure only the smallest of threats. Those known to hunt Grisha were put on trial before the King and Queen of Ravka.

Those known to hunt Grisha were executed.

Grisha were given safe haven in Os Alta for a price: they had to serve with the First Army.

Most chose to do so.

**vii.**

Nikolai disappeared, and Alina found that she was happy for it.

**viii.**

"I have some news," Genya told Alina softly one morning. It had been a year since the fall of Fjerda and the wasteland that its capital had become.

Her friend was distant, as Alina found Genya to always be these days. She was quiet and listless in a way that she had not seen since the march underground. She was distancing herself from Alina, but then, so many people had regardless.

"What is it?" She pushed a plate of sweets closer to the woman, who was well on her way to nearing the end of her pregnancy.

Genya gave a brief, polite smile as she bit into a pastry. Even that she couldn't deny.

"There has been some talk of a rebellion."

Alina smiled. "There are always rumors about rebels, Genya. What we are doing is not going to make people happy at first."

Her friend shook her head. "I have heard that it's Zoya who leads them."

Alina snapped to attention at that, sitting up straighter in her chair. "But Zoya-"

"Was never confirmed to be dead."

She was quiet for a moment, a pang of regret echoing hollowly. "Do you believe it's her?"

"Yes," Genya replied quietly.

Rumors of small pockets of rebels were always a constant. Sometimes they would even root them out, and they would be suitably punished.

Alina didn't think she could hurt her friends, even if they had abandoned her.


	4. Eradication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings this chapter for another execution.

**i.**

Alina watched as a new group of Grisha children were brought in. A large one, surprisingly. They were Fjerdans, children who had been hidden underground and whose parents had resisted the laws Ravka had set over them. She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to keep her face blank as she watched them.

But she couldn’t help the tug of a frown at her lips or the way her heart ached for them. Because they were bright eyed and excited, but she could see the darkness that had settled in their own hearts. Alina didn’t have to ask to know what had happened to those that resisted the First Army coming in to _rescue_ these children.

And that was exactly what she had to keep reminding herself. They would be sad for now, and she would understand their pangs. She, too, had been an orphan. Soon, though, the hunger for their new lives, for their new family, would replace those feelings. She knew they would.

One girl looked up. She was older than the others, her blonde hair cut severely short so that tiny curls clung to her ears. A dark green gaze connected with Alina’s dark ones. There was darkness in those, a soulful anger that pierced her.

Maybe not all of them would accept things so easily. 

The queen pressed her lips together in a thin line.

**ii.**

“You can’t make them all accept slaughter so easily,” Genya sighed that night when Alina finally dumped her concerns on her friend.

Alina drew one leg in toward her chest, resting the arch of her foot on the lip of the chair. Leaning forward. her chin rested on her knee as she watched Genya sip delicately at her _kvas_. How anyone could sip, let alone do it with the gentle grace of Genya, at that disgusting drink was beyond the _tsaritsa_. 

“Their family disobeyed the law, Genya. They don’t have to accept it, but they should understand that laws are there for a reason.”

Her friend was quiet for a long time, draining her cup first before talking again. “Listen to yourself.”

“What.”

“You’re beginning to lose who you were, Alina. What happened to the girl who would have fought against such policies? The Fjerdans have done cruel things to their Grisha before, but those families just wanted to protect their children.”

“From what? A good life here, in the First Army? Serving a Grisha king and queen?”

Alina licked her lips and shook her head. A fire stirred in her gut, but she couldn’t tell if it was anger or shame or both. Anger at Genya for speaking so boldly. Shame at her words because she sounded right, but Alina wasn’t sure if they felt right. Things were complicated. Such a tired, boring word, she thought, but that was the truth. 

“From invaders. From the very queen that burned their capital into nothing but ash and dust,” the Tailor said so softly, Alina almost missed it.

“Do you hate me, Genya? Do you think what I did was wrong?”

Genya swirled the drink in her hand a bit, staring into her cup. Alina waited, fearing the worst. She already hated herself, a secret she kept so closely guarded that even Aleksander would never know. But to know that her only friend left to her did, she wasn’t sure if she was strong enough to handle it.

The truth was, to answer Genya’s question, that the girl before was dead now. The Alina from before Mal’s death was no longer alive. She had shifted, evolved. She had become aware of so much, her light touching every surface of this world. Her ideals had fallen to the wayside, but perhaps not her naivety. 

“No,” her friend answered. Her green eyes were on Alina, fierce and honest. “You did what you had to, for our sake. For Grisha. I have always believed in that part of the Darkling’s dream.”

“I feel like there’s a but coming up.”

Genya flashed a smile before the tips of the fingers on her free hand touched the scar at her cheek. “ _But_ I won’t stand by unnecessary cruelty, in letting a monster bring Ravka into a false light.”

Her words were treason, as they always were these days. Or at least bordering on them. Alina knew that, but she agreed, too. That was why she was here, wasn’t it? To stop unnecessary cruelty. To not let a monster take the throne.

“I will talk to the Darkling,” Alina finally said. “About the families.”

Something in Genya relaxed then. “You are the only thing that can change his mind these days. I know he wanted to do away with the Second Army.”

A small smile wormed its way to Alina’s mouth. “You have no idea. I have to fight just as hard with him as I do our own enemies.”

“You’re the one who can do it, Alina. You have always been the one.”

There was more faith in those words than Alina deserved, she figured. Maybe letting that girl she once was die was the wrong idea.

“I’ll do what I can, Genya. But I don’t control the Darkling anymore than I let him control me.”

There was doubt in her friend’s eyes, briefly, before it was slammed shut. She leaned forward before Alina could think too much about it, taking her hand. “Enough of that talk, though. What I really came here to tell you is something more important.”

Alina’s nose wrinkled. “More important than rebellions and orphans and whether I have the Darkling on a leash?”

“I’m pregnant.”

She sucked in a sharp breath, eyes wide. For a moment, she did not feel like a goddess trapped on earth, but like a normal girl. Normal, human, surprised, excited. _“Genya.”_

“I know, I know, it’s not the best sort of timing, and trust me when I say it was not something David and I planned to do anytime soon.” There was an undercurrent to her words that made Alina supply the words “or ever” in her thoughts. “But I’m happy. And don’t you think I’d make pregnancy the newest trend?”

Alina had to laugh at that, light and free. “I really hope not.” She squeezed Genya’s hand gently. “I’m happy that you’re happy. I can’t wait for this child.”

They spent the rest of the night chatting about the future baby, but Alina’s thoughts were never far from the present state of Ravka.

**iii.**

The Darkling was taut with tension, his body like a wire being pulled too tight. He was so many things, but Alina knew that he loved Ravka more than anything. This was slowly beginning to destroy him. The wars, the rebellions, the small insurgencies that undermined their power. There was no unity for him, not like he had been dreaming.

It was killing her to see him like this. She had been at his side for five years now, and every small year of time in the well that they would have together knit her closer to him. She was beginning to understand how he worked in little ways. He was beginning to see that her softness was not at all a weakness.

Alina slipped her hand into his, startling him. Their fingers entwined, and he gave her a brief look before resuming his stare out of the window, back to the empty cabin at the lake.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked her husband softly.

“We should destroy that place,” he muttered.

It wasn’t the answer she had been expecting, and something cold reached inside of her and squeezed. “You’re not serious.”

“Sometimes, I think I might be. My mother didn’t believe enough in my future.”

“Baghra loved you,” Alina hissed, her nails digging into the back of Aleksander’s hand. They bit into skin, but he never made a reaction to them. “The moment that building comes down, you will regret it, Aleksander. And I won’t comfort you.”

“You’re a cruel woman.” His head turned so that he was looking at her now. A small smile played on his beautiful mouth. Reaching out with her free hand, she brushed her fingers over the look. This was how she wished she could present him to the world, instead of the sharp king who had taken the country by power and ego.

But this was reserved only for her, in their quiet moments. 

“You’re a cruel man. It works out, and you’re being childish if you think you can get rid of your mother’s cabin like it’ll purge her from your system.” Her lips pursed. 

“I said I was only serious about it sometimes.” He sounded put out, like a petulant child, and it brought another smile to her lips.

Her husband: monster and child, all wrapped up in one beautiful package.

“What’s really bothering you? It can’t be an old cabin.”

She cut at the heart of the matter, tired of digging through the layers he would force her to go through until she grew tired of the original problem at hand. His eyes lit up as she did so. She was learning, and he encouraged it.

“These rebels.”

“You know, that’s all you have to say?” She crossed her arms over her chest, turning to lean with her shoulder pressed into the window frame. “The rebels are always on your mind. They’re on everyone’s minds.”

“We’re doing nothing to stop them.”

“We’re doing plenty to work against them,” Alina countered. “We’re doing exactly what we should be doing to stop them.”

His chin tilted, and he stared down the slope of his nose at her. There went the humor, the good fortune she had piled up only moments before. “We’re not destroying them. Because you still harbor some feeling for them. What should I tell our people, Alina, when they cower in fear over another attack? What should I tell our soldiers when another encampment is destroyed?”

Her lips parted, but the words would not come. 

And in her silence, he continued. “They say the end is always a force of wind so strong, it resembles the Cut.” His mouth twisted in a bitter smile. “I never realized that Zoya had such strength.”

She sucked in a breath now. “I am not refusing to destroy them because we were soldiers together once.”

Alina didn’t want to call them friends, even though that the was the word that rebounded through her. They had refused to come back to be with her, and that was not what friends did. They had abandoned her.

“They are as dust, Alina.” His fingers were on her chin, gently leading her face until she was looking at him. She hadn’t realized that she had been staring hard at the snow on the ground, letting the white blind her as much as the sun did when she summoned it. “You have no reason to hold onto them anymore when they have not held onto you.”

He was right. It hurt, a dull and aching throb that began in her wrist and moved through the rest of her body. She had just been thinking the same thing. 

“They are still Grisha.”

“They are not the Grisha we want to save,” he murmured, leaning in so that his lips brushed against hers. She kissed him, gently. Because she could, because he was so close, because he was all she would have left.

There would be no Genya or Zoya or Mal or these people now. They would die and scatter like the ash of Djerholm. 

“None of them can be saved?”

“They think Zoya is a queen more worthy than you,” he whispered, his lips trailing along the line of her jaw until his breath puffed against the shell of her ear. “Why else would they follow her instead of you? You, Alina, are the light in the dark.”

A shiver went through her body, at his touch but also at his words. She was the light. She would bring peace to Ravka like she had promised. So what if she had chosen a different route? A different man to call husband? Why should that matter to them?

Zoya had said she didn’t want to live in the darkness, but that was what Alina was fighting against. She hadn’t allowed Aleksander to create another Shadowfold. She kept the otkazat’sya in her army, _her_ army. They were not the Soldat Sol of old, but they were new. Rebirthed in her light.

He kissed her again, grounding her. Her light splayed across his face and played with the shadows around them. “When you accept that they must be eradicated for the good of us and for Ravka, maybe then you will accept the power that you’re afraid to call your own.” He traced a line down her neck, swirling his finger over her collarbone.

“I accept my power, Aleksander. What does one have to do with the other?”

**iv.**

They hunt. 

Sometimes just the elite of the First Army, so quiet that the small rebellion never realized the mistake that they’ve allowed a spy in until too late.

Sometimes, they send the Second Army and watch as they fight each other into dust. 

Zoya’s army is strong. Stronger than hers had been when she was just _Sankta_ Alina. The idea burned in Alina, like the jab of a knife to her side until it festered into a wound that wouldn’t close. Zoya was capable, but Alina was powerful. And she was learning. At the Darkling’s hand, she was learning.

And she could be far more ruthless than Zoya.

But never once did Alina venture into the hiding holes of rabbits. 

**v.**

Alina bounced Mariya on her knee, and the little girl cooed gently. She had thought about children, long ago. In a daydream of a life with Mal far away, where they could have lived happily ever after. She thought about the orphans now, and did what she could to take care of them. But Alina was wise enough to know that now was not for children, even if Genya had done differently.

“She’s beautiful,” Alina said softly, twisting soft red curls around her fingers.

Genya gave her a smile, quiet and happy. “She does take after me.” Leaning in, she then whispered, “Thank the Saints.”

“Do you think she’ll be a Tailor, too?”

That brought a shrug to her friend’s shoulders. “At least it doesn’t hold the same meanings that it used to.”

Mariya babbled incoherently. There was a light in the darkness, Alina reminded herself. This child was proof. It gave her comfort.

**vi.**

Adrik stood before the reigning queen and king of Ravka, his tattered sleeved unpinned from his dirty _kefta_. His hair was unkempt, his face bloodied, bruised, nearly unrecognizable. He stooped, as if he couldn’t bear the weight of his body anymore. It made it look as though he were bowing to them, and the look on the Darkling’s face - that hungry smile that desired so much - said he thought the same thing.

Alina’s heart hammered in her chest, but she kept her face neutral. Or so she hoped she did, sending up a prayer to Mal that she did not trip and show weakness in the face of her husband or the court. 

Looking at Adrik’s face, however, made that hard. She remembered him losing his arm five years ago. She remembered how he kept going, anyway, how he survived and fought with her. How he learned to summon wind with one arm. And pretty well, from the looks of it. Their special force had had trouble bringing him down, and he had sacrificed himself for the rest of his group.

He was brave.

He was a hero.

The way he glared at Alina - in her her perfect _kefta_ , the gold strands practically glowing in her light, with her tamed hair bound to the top of her head with jeweled pins, and her cold face - made her feel like garbage.

The Darkling’s hand brushed hers, just barely, but with it came the amplification of her power. It was a gentle reminder that he was here, and she was greater. 

That Adrik was nothing in the face of them.

“You do not wish to tell us the location of the headquarters of your group?” the _tsar_ of Ravka asked once more.

Adrik spat on the floor at their feet, a glob of bright red blood splattering near Alina’s boot.

She didn’t move. 

She wanted to plead with the boy - the man, now - to not do this. To let her help him.

But the Darkling would not rest until they were wiped from the earth. It was the only way. It was the best thing for their country, for their people who needed their protection and security. 

“You will kill me either way. I would rather die knowing you are still clueless,” the Squaller hissed.

A smile tugged at the Darklin’s mouth, but it was something foul. “You will die, yes. But there is a difference in whether it will be painless or not.”

“Adrik,” Alina breathed. “Please.”

He drew his lips back from his teeth. There was something hard in his eyes, a sort of hatred she had never felt directed at herself before. “Traitor. Do you like warming his bed at night?”

The Darkling did not give him another chance. 

The crowd’s screams when he summoned the nichevo’ya were nothing compared those of Adrik’s.

Alina did not sleep for weeks.


	5. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for dead bodies and mild sexual situations this chapter /o/

**i.**

Alina stared up at the dark canopy that covered her bed, as endless as the shadows that hounded her. The sheets clung to her body, the only thing she had to preserve any shred of modesty she had left. Nightmares again. She was alone, Aleksander’s side of the bed cold and empty. Still, her hand reached out to his side, fingers tangling into the sheets as if she could somehow summon his body back to her. 

Where had he gone?

She closed her eyes, trying to banish the images imprinted on her lids, as if her mind was broadcasting them still.

She dreamed of blood and shadows, of darkness that snaked in. She had watched with glee as the darkness slithered inside of Zoya and claimed her much as it had claimed Nikolai. Now, though, there was no satisfaction in that dream. A hollowness rang inside of her. 

She did not see herself as a traitor, but she was certainly starting to feel the weight of those words. Alina could _understand_ why they would think that way. They didn’t understand what she was trying to do.

Her eyes opened again. 

Slipping out of bed, Alina grabbed a dressing gown, wrapping it around herself before slipping into her boots. It was summer and warm, and she didn’t really care about who saw her. She waved off the _oprichniki_ who had been settled outside of her door. They were not to follow her, even though she could see the hesitation in their faces at the order. The Darkling, after all, was their true master.

Once, it would have been Tamar and Tolya outside of her door.

Once, it would have been Mal.

There was nobody on the grounds as she slipped from the Grand Palace into the Little Palace, from the Little Palace to the small hut near the lake. It was still abandoned, a stale scent hanging in the air from years of neglect. She sat in the chair next to the fireplace, the only light in the room coming from her skin.

Alina wrapped her arms around herself, huddling over. She was waiting, she realized, for Baghra to return and tell her how foolish she was being. 

**ii.**

“We are leaving.”

Alina gave Aleksander a sharp look. Her chin tilted, strands of white hair that had escaped the ponytail she fashioned for herself tumbling into her eyes. “We are?”

His hands were behind his back as he stood before her. His eyes were hard, dark. Anger, she realized. He was thrumming with rage barely suppressed, and though the situation must have been severe, she was pleased to see that he was able to keep his darker urges in check.

Genya’s words floated back to her, about how she was the only one who was able to control him. 

“We’ve found another camp.”

Her mouth went dry even her stomach turned sour. Another rebel camp, he meant. Another place filled with their people, with _her_ people. She couldn’t do it, she thought, her fingers brushing over Mal’s ribs. She could not go out there with this man and slaughter people who were misguided and afraid.

She could not hear Adrik’s screams anymore. Poor, brave, infuriating Adrik.

He sensed her hesitation. The whole world could have sensed her hesitation. His movements were fast, like a viper striking. Cool hands and long fingers gripped her face tightly enough that it hurt. Her immediate reaction was to struggle, even as his grip on her tightened until she thought he might rip her head off.

Aleksander leaned in close until the only thing she could see was him and him alone. His beautiful, horrible, agonizing face. Her husband and equal. 

“This is not the time to be weak, Alina,” he hissed.

Her hands cover his. “I’m not weak.”

“You’re afraid to face them. I can see it. I can _feel_ it, worming around inside of your soul.”

Alina sucked in a breath, her heart hammering in her chest. What did he know of souls when he destroyed his so long ago?

“You’ve seen the destruction I will do for Ravka,” Alina spat. “Ravka needs to see that its leaders will not bow to those who won’t fight for peace. They were friends, Aleksander, but I understand what’s at stake here.”

He smiled then, sharp and cruel, before it melted into a more gentle look. His hands dropped, but she could still feel the pressure against her nerves, each one on fire.

It would have been fear picking up her adrenaline like this, but she knew her husband too well now in these few short years. It wasn’t fear that hammered her heart, but excitement, desire, the need to protect Ravka.

She was still hesitant about fighting those she called friends, but she was not hesitant about keeping her country together.

She rubbed a hand along her face. “Whatever hesitancy I have, Aleksander, isn’t for you to question,” she snapped. 

Aleksander arched one dark eyebrow at her. “Isn’t it? When at any moment you might shove a blade between my ribs, too?” His fingers tapped the amplifier against her pulse. “You left me for the tracker multiple times, and you still killed him for power. I’m not going to let my guard down around you.”

She was still for a moment, letting anger wash over her. A cruel smile split her lips, tugging them over her teeth. “Good.” She wanted to tell him that she would never kill him, the same as she couldn’t on the Fold that day, but it was a lie. Whatever Alina had become that day, she was power. She was _life_ itself, and she was death. And she would kill Aleksander if she found that she had no control over the monster that he was anymore.

“We leave in the morning.” He leaned in, brushing his lips over her temple. “There will be a war meeting in an hour.”

\--

David stared back at Alina with even darker circles under his eyes than she ever had before she discovered she was the Sun Summoner. There was something oddly human about the way he looked at her, rubbing a hand over his face tiredly. She was honestly surprised to find him in such a disheveled state, but then again, it seemed like Genya was most interested in changing Alina than she was in changing anyone else. Even if her husband was included in that.

“Are you okay, David?” Alina asked gently. 

“Mariya doesn’t sleep well,” he mumbled through a yawn. “Forgive me, _moi tsaritsa_ \--”

“Alina,” she corrected.

“--But Genya sleeps like the dead now, so it’s either me or Misha who cares for her.”

It took Alina a minute before she could even remember Misha, could place his face and his name. And then her heart squeezed. “How is he?”

He did not talk to her anymore, that poor boy. He never forgave her for Mal’s death.

“Strong,” David said, but that was all she could get out of the man. 

There was a wall between them, and while that didn’t seem too unusual for a man such as David - so consumed as he was with his own work most of the time that part of Alina was still surprised that Mariya was born - this was _different_.

He was blocking her out. She was his queen, his leader. She was not his friend, and she could sense that. He wouldn’t give her anymore details of his life than he could manage, regardless of where Genya stood. Part of her had to admire that, his loyalty to a movement that was being wiped out slowly.

Alina took a seat next to him at the table in his workshop. It was strangely quiet today, but she supposed he had dismissed his apprentices to help with the weapons he had come up with recently to fight the war. 

David stared at the table for a moment before he looked back up at her. So many people these days refused to meet her gaze, so afraid of the queen that they would rather risk seeming impolite. Not David. He met her, gaze for gaze, without backing down.

There was backbone in this quiet, eccentric man.

“I’ve done more research,” he finally said. “That’s why you came, isn’t it?”

Alina nodded. “The more I know, the better I can--”

“Kill them off?”

Her face twisted. “No!”

“Will you ever help the _true_ king?”

She felt like she had been slapped in the face. Her fingers twisted into her _kefta_ , nearly ripping the fabric. “David,” she hissed. “The Darkling is the true king.”

“Do you really believe that, Alina? I have stayed because Genya tells me that you have a plan, that the Darkling is necessary. But all I see is a woman who has abandoned her principles.”

Her lips thinned out. “Stop--”

“Or you’ll let him kill me like you let him kill Adrik?”

David had too much backbone, Alina decided. He had drawn a line, and he had crossed it. Alina schooled her features into a mask of neutrality. He was Genya’s husband and her only hope for learning _merzost_ without her husband.

“No,” she said. “I wouldn’t.”

He took a while to say anything in return, and she didn’t have much time before she had to leave. This would be a pointless endeavor on her part, and she was sure what she was off to do wouldn’t help much in persuading him to help her.

With a sigh, she got to her feet.

And he spoke. “I found a few more books, but I don’t know how much insight they will be able to give you.” He picked up the items gently from the floor, pushing them across the table to her. They were old and smelled like mildew. If they weren’t older than Morozova’s journals, they were certainly kept in worse conditions in that case.

Still, she picked them up gingerly, cradling them to herself.

“Thank you, David.”

“Eventually, you’re going to have to ask him how to do it. I’m sure you can figure out an excuse to get him to.”

She bit the inside of her cheek hard. “I didn’t want Adrik to die.”

He was back to staring at his work. She didn’t even wait for him to reply, but as she stepped through the doorway, she could hear him whisper, “I wish I could believe that.

\--

Alina wished she could, too.

\-- 

She hid the books beneath Baghra’s mattress, knowing that her husband would never come into the hut to search for them.

**iii.**

They left early the next morning, an army fit for war.

She rode with Aleksander in his carriage, watching the sallow faces of her people watching them leave with wary looks. The king and queen of their nation should not be going off to war, those faces seemed to say. Especially not a civil war that was beginning to brew. 

They should not be fighting each other.

She gave Aleksander a side long glance, drinking in his profile. He stared ahead, deep in thought. The corner of his mouth twitched as his jaw clenched. Without thinking about it, she reached out, letting her fingers brush against the twitch. 

Finally, as if remembering she was there with him, he blinked and turned toward her. “I’m unhappy.”

“I can see that,” she breathed softly.

“I should apologize.”

Both snowy white brows rose high on her head. She should have been pleased at him even wanting to apologize - Saints knew that Aleksander did no such thing. But that was exactly why she couldn’t wrap her head around such a concept. “What for?”

“Doubting you.” He kissed the back of her hand briefly before holding it. “You are mine, and I am yours. My will is yours.”

She gave him a faint smile. “For Ravka.”

“For us.”

**iv.**

The stench of blood hung heavy in her nostrils, but no longer did she feel the need to heave with each soldier she brought down with the Cut. Zoya had been busy, it would seem, since Alina had grown used to the politics of Os Alta.

Before her lay the broken corpse of a broken priest, the Apparat who had tried so hard to make her into a pretty figurehead. A cold calm settled through her bones at the site of his insides, the way his blood painted the stone floor, at his sightless dark eyes staring in horror at her.

She had watched those eyes drain of life, _finally_. Perhaps she should feel bad, but she felt nothing but relief. Zoya was desperate, even if she was busy, to have recruited such scum to her cause.

“ _Tsaritsa_ ,” one of the soldiers said. 

Alina glanced up at the sound of her title, zeroing in on the boy. “Yes?”

“We must keep moving if we are to meet up with the Darkling.”

She nodded sharply. He was right, and Aleksander would be waiting for her. Still, she couldn’t seem to move. She couldn’t really keep her dark gaze from finding the absent Apparat’s one. A giddiness hummed in her body. She was a goddess.

“Let’s go,” she told the Squaller. He smiled and followed her out of the ruins.

\--

That day ended in their victory, but the campaign moved on.

The extermination, Alina thought. Because that was exactly how it was. 

Perhaps she was still riding the high of the Apparat’s death, because she went into the next battle more settled than the first, whipping light around her with deadly force. She killed some of her own that got in the way, but even their deaths never bothered her.

From the shadows, she could see Aleksander’s grim smile, the eagerness in his quartz eyes. He was pleased with her willingness, and she was pleased with her lack of hesitancy. 

After all, in the end, even her own soldiers were dust. That was the look that her husband was giving her. They could be easily replaced.

**v.**

She wasn’t sure how she got here, not at first. Not until she spotted a familiar silhouette, the giant of a man standing in the distance. Alina had known better than to let herself separate from her guard, to allow herself to be cornered. But she also knew that she could handle herself. 

Nobody could threaten her life, except perhaps Aleksander.

Seeing the man, though, brought a rush of memories to her. 

“Tolya,” she whispered into the darkness of night.

He inclined his head at her, slanted eyes watching her carefully. The Heartrender didn’t trust her, and though she knew that was the smart thing, it hurt. He and his sister had followed her, had believed her to be a real saint.

Some saint, she thought bitterly as she took another step closer. Her glow was soft, easily swallowed by the night. He took her in for a moment when she finally reached him. They hadn’t seen each other in some years. Five. It had been five years.

“You’re alive,” Alina breathed, trying to stop the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. Queens did not cry, and goddesses sure didn’t show favor. 

“For now,” Tolya agreed. Reality set in roughly. They were at war against each other. This was her enemy. He should die. “Come with me.”

She wanted to ask where to, but then she realized that he didn’t mean to just lead her somewhere. He was asking her to abandon her soldiers and her country and her husband. The fact that the rebellion would still even want to accept her, after all that she had done… They were stupid. 

Or desperate.

Alina shook her head. “I can’t.”

“Then kil me now. I will not be caught by your men to suffer the same fate as Adrik.”

To her credit, she didn’t wince. But she did fall silent in the midst of his words. Tolya was not one to talk much, but now he was. She took a deep breath. “I can’t.”

His large hand rested heavily on her shoulder. He could, right now, attempt to kill her. He could crush her heart, stop her breathing, like he did to Ivan. Alina knew he wouldn’t. Tolya was still her man, and she had a feeling that he would be, even when he fought against her. 

Madness crashed in around them. A sharp voice rang out in the darkness.

Aleksander was searching for her. There was no yelling her name, but she could feel him tugging on their tether.

She placed a hand on Tolya’s chest, above his heart. “Run,” she told him. “Run and do not come back. Run and do not fight.”

“I will fight,” he told her.

“You will die.”

He gave her a wry smile that stabbed at her. “Maybe then you will wake up from the spell power has cast on you.”

Tolya did run, however, while Alina went to meet her husband and stall him for as long as she could. Her friend would die, but it wouldn’t be tonight.

**vi.**

“We have to return home,” Alina told Aleksander a few months after they had begun this war. His face was pressed into her bare stomach, mouth tracing lazy lines into her skin. She wanted to have a serious discussion about their plans, but already she was feeling herself tumble headfirst into the desire that gripped her whenever he was near. 

His mouth found her hipbone, kissing it. “So you said earlier,” he breathed against her.

She didn’t bother to stifle the moan or the way her body moved beneath him. “Just because you’re trying to distract me with sex doesn’t mean you’re going to succeed.”

“I did for some time, didn’t I?” He moved down her body to leave a trail of kisses along her inner thigh. “I can again.”

Her fingers threaded into his loose, dark hair, tugging his head up sharply. Saints, she wanted it. His distractions again and again, but she was meant to be his equal. She was the Sun Summoner, and he would listen to her when she wished to speak.

“You have my attention, Alina,” he said with a breathy laugh. 

“Ravka needs us.”

“Which is why we are out here, for Ravka. You agreed that the resistance must be stopped.”

He thought she was going back on her word, and why shouldn’t he? She had gone back on so many words in their few short years together. Would this be their many lifetimes as well?

“You wanted to rule this country, Aleksander, and I helped you achieve that. You might think you did it on your own, but you and I both know that without me, you would have nothing but ashes.”

His lips thinned out but he got to his knees, pulling away from her. She let his hair go, sitting up as well. “So we let the rebels win.”

“No, you idiot,” she growled. “You let me handle it.”

That gave him pause, and he watched her carefully. “Like you handled that Shu Han man before?”

Now she was the one growing uncomfortably still, her heart beating frantically. How had he known about that? Why hadn’t he said anything until now?

Because he was testing her, she thought bitterly. Everything she did was a test.

“I know what has to be done. I gave him a choice, and he made the wrong one. What happens now will be on him,” Alina told her husband, and he seemed to be contemplating her words. “You have to go back to Os Alta and take care of our country. Politics are not my thing.”

He smiled, curling a strand of her white hair around his finger. “That, I’m afraid, is very true.”

She smiled back, ignoring the pit of fear in her stomach. “I will lead our army. Do you trust me with that?”

His smile turned more bitter. “We will see.”

**vii.**

Despite his misgivings, the Darkling did return home to Os Alta with part of their army. 

**viii.**

History would speak of the ruthlessness with which _Sol Koroleva_ treated her enemies.

But it would also speak of the mercies she gave to those who surrendered, and to those who were innocent.

**ix.**

As Alina marched her army closer to the boundary of the Shadow Fold, she received a messenger. Nadia rode into the camp, straight-backed, her face a mask. If she held any hate for Alina, she hid it well.

“I come with a message from my queen,” Nadia said as she dismounted.

“I am your queen,” Alina replied calmly, but inside a storm raged. Of course, Zoya would call herself a queen.

“You are a traitor,” Nadia said. Her words were soft, but Alina could feel the devastation that was behind them. If she had the chance, Alina was sure that Nadia would kill her.

“Just tell me the message.”

“She would like to meet with you, in the remains of Novokribirsk.” Even as she said it, the Squaller shuddered, as if she wasn’t pleased with the idea.

Neither was Alina. “She would dare to venture into the Fold?”

Nadia cocked her head. “The _Veterok Koroleva_ dares to do much more than become the lapdog of the Darkling.”

Alina only barely adjusted her Cut so that swiped past Nadia with blinding light, enough to destroy her own tent and kill the horse the Grisha rebel had rode in on.

If Zoya wanted to meet in her own domain, then so be it.


	6. Veterok Koroleva

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! November is coming up this weekend, and that means that it’s time for Nano! I’m a frequent participant of the whole crazy thing (since 2008, actually), so I’ll be taking a small hiatus from this fic for the month so I can get down and dirty with the original story I’m working on.

**i.**

Alina chose to not tell her husband about the encounter with Nadia and the summons that she had been given from Zoya. She was - not afraid, but uncertain. He would order her back, she thought. He would come for her. He would ruin this for her, and it was a fight between Alina and Zoya.

She had no doubts about that. This was not something that Aleksander could take from her, and she couldn’t risk him killing Zoya before she had the chance to…

Alina wasn’t sure what chances there were. It had been years, long enough for Zoya to make it clear that she would not bend to Alina’s will. She wished that Genya were here to help her, but the Tailor was back in Os Alta with her family.

And Genya had never made it quite clear whose side she was on anymore.

“Tell nobody,” she had hissed at her men as they cleaned the mess she had made. “Especially not the king. You are my army, and you report to me.”

It was the soldiers of the Second Army who had agreed at once, but the Grisha were slower to respond. 

That night, she took aside the Second Army’s general, a man nearly twice her age by the name of Olaf. “Watch them,” she said to him. “If they try to send a message to anyone without approval, they are traitors.”

“And the traitors must be killed,” Olaf whispered back to her before bowing deeply.

War was a strange beast, Alina decided as she walked back into her tent that night. 

She would take a small group with her into the Fold. What more would she need in there? Zoya might have thought she could hide out in the darkness, but the dark was as much Alina’s as the light was, too. 

Sitting on the edge of her bed, Alina buried her face in her hands. She still felt so young in some ways, and too old in others. It weighed on her bones, made her tired. She was so tired of this war, of fighting people that shouldn’t have been fighting. Would it always be like this? Would Ravka always be at war with itself?

If that were the case, then her sacrifices meant absolutely nothing. She had hurt so many people to fail now. 

**ii.**

There was a time not long ago that Alina had no control over her own power, and it was strange to think that it was only a few years ago. That it hadn’t already been a lifetime. She had little power, and then she had no idea what to do with it. Not without help. Not without her friends.

She shuffled through the notes that David had given her, and the books that were almost too brittle for her to touch. That was how she felt right now, while trying to teach herself _merzost_. The smartest thing to do, as David had suggested, was to ask her husband to show her.

They could learn together, she realized.

But she also knew that Aleksander would ask questions. He would pry. He would take something she loved from her. 

Her fingers twitched. What more did she have to give to him?

Nikolai had fled, and that was who she was learning for. 

He was forcing her to hunt the dissenters, people who had been her friends. So what did it matter if he took them without her?

Alina had nothing but him.

And he would never take himself from her.

For now, though, she would learn for herself and pick apart what he had already accomplished, and that would have to be enough. She was an apt pupil, Alina kept reminding herself. She had turned the Fjerdan capital into a wasteland. She wore three amplifiers. There was nothing she couldn’t do that she didn’t set out to do in the first place.

She chewed on her lip for a moment. Part of her wanted to appear before him, not just because she wanted to pick apart all of his secrets, but because -

Leaning back in her chair, rubbing a hand over her face. Saints, she missed him. Terrible, painfully, like something had been torn out of her at his absence. She’d been the one to insist he return home, and here she was, hoping he’d just appear again.

Alina Starkov was not some little girl. She was the Sun Summoner, the Queen of Ravka, a former _Sankta_. And she certainly didn’t _need_ her husband here to hold her hand. 

She just wanted him here.

For now, though, she put aside those thoughts, as though she could summon him if she kept thinking about him. He would ruin everything, otherwise. He would twist her ideas, he would take them from her.

So Alina pushed Aleksander from her mind and read when she had the chance, and practiced during the day when nobody would question her light. It was nowhere near precise, not like Aleksander’s control. 

Even with three amplifiers, all she could really claim was raw power as her own. Even then, it was only through the deaths of others that she could have this power.

The practice did not go well. It never had. She was powerful, but unfocused. 

\--

“Alina.” There was relief in his smile when he saw her, his hand ghosting over her arm. 

“I’m glad I caught you alone, or else this would be awkward,” she said with a laugh. It had been only a few weeks, but even seeing him like this was enough to release the pressure that had been building in her chest.

He could see that, she noticed, with the way his eyes lit up, with the curve of his possessive smile.

“I wouldn’t have cared.” His hand slipped to her waist, before he pulled her against him. 

It was real, but not real enough. She wanted him to touch her, but now wasn’t the time. She slid out of his grasp and ignored the hurt look he shot her.

“You’re not here for the pleasure of seeing me, though,” he quickly gathered.

She lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. “I’ve missed you,” she told him, because it was an easy enough admission that would put him at ease. And because it wasn’t a lie. That was probably the part that made him accept it instead of questioning her. There were no daggers in her hand this time.

“But there’s something else you need from me.” Aleksander clasped his hands behind his back, walking slow circles around her. Alina kept her head forward, barely even following him with her gaze. Let him feel as though he was cornering her, pinning her down until she broke.

She was weak against him now, it was true, but she wasn’t spineless.

“The nichevo’ya,” Alina breathed softly. She watched as he paused in front of her, dark brows crawling high on his head. “How did you discover how to make them?”

“But don’t you know already?” A smile tugged at his lips, but it was cold, thin. “Your power is my power. My power is yours. Don’t you already know my secrets?”

Fear and anticipation curled in her gut. He couldn’t hurt her, and she couldn’t really hurt him, not in this state. But when they ended up together again, she would have to find a way to quell the monster again.

There were a million ways she could go about this, a million routes that Genya or Zoya or Tamar would take. 

Alina was not charming, smooth, or upfront enough to begin to emulate the few women she respected the most. 

Her fingers danced along his jawline, and he leaned into her touch, like she knew he would. “They are mine, but that doesn’t give me the knowledge of what I need.” Her finger tapped gently at his temple. “You know, though.”

“We’ve established that.”

“What I mean is, why have a partner who is the same as you are, that you want to rule with as an equal, and yet keep that knowledge from me?”

His eyebrow arched. “You know the answer to that.”

“I have no blade in my hand.”

“Not now,” he agreed. Taking her hand in his, he kissed her palm. “But every marriage needs its secrets. You have plenty of your own, Alina.”

**iii.**

“Send this message to their camp,” Alina said. She handed the sealed envelope to Olaf. 

He was trustworthy.

He was expendable. 

The letter slid into his saddlebag, a grim look on his face. “You are meeting with her, then.”

Her jaw clenched. “Yes.”

“Is this wise, _Sankta?_ ”

It had been so long since she had heard that title directed at her out loud, that Alina almost didn’t register it. It dawned on her slowly, creeping over her skin with a level of uncertainty. 

“You--”

“I am _not_ a rebel,” the young soldier hissed at her from under his breath, before any of the others could take an interest in the situation. “You are my queen, _Sankta_ , and I fight for what you believe in.”

“I’m no saint,” Alina said sharply.

The grin he gave her was so reminiscent of Mal, that she almost killed him then and there. Letting this boy get close to her was the worst idea she had had, and Alina could say that she had plenty of those recently. 

“Isn’t that what a saint would say?”

And then he was off to deliver her message.

They would meet in the Shadowfold within the week.

**iv.**

Olaf accompanied Alina into the Fold, as well as a few other select soldiers from both armies. She wanted to show a united front to Zoya and her band, that she was not a traitor. She had united the cause. 

Alina stood in the middle of the skiff, her light enveloping them brightly as they moved slowly from the wasteland. Her soldiers were terrified, but she couldn’t blame them. Long ago, she had been afraid, too.

Long ago, she had used her power to save Mal.

Nothing good ever came from entering the Shadowfold, and she couldn’t understand why Zoya would put her base here. It was clever, of course. Aleksander and herself wouldn’t have ever expected it.

She grit her teeth. Zoya must have been using David’s technology that Aleksander had used once, so long ago and yet not long enough.

Her fingers twitched. She wasn’t ready for this conversation, hadn’t perfected her techniques at all yet. She would swear the army to secrecy and walk away if Zoya only wanted to chat.

Alina had to bite back a snort. Right, Zoya only wanting to sit down to a cup of _kvass_ and catching up. That was as likely to happen as Mal coming back to life.

She could only hope to convince the Squaller to stand down. To continue negotiations. Just long enough for Alina to perfect her _merzost_. In a perfect world, Zoya would even consider laying her arms down, and Alina was sure she could convince Aleksander to bring the wayward back into their fold. 

Olaf took an uneasy step toward her as the screams of the volcra echoed around them. “ _Tsaritsa_ \--”

“Don’t worry,” Alina said easily. The faint echo of a smirk was on her face. “I’m much better at this than I used to be.”

His face paled considerably, brown hair fluttering in the breeze made by the skiff. “Yes, ma’am. I trust you.”

“I hear a but coming on.”

“I don’t trust them. Anyway without your abilities would be crazy to come into the Unsea to set up a camp,” the soldier hissed under his breath.

“That’s the genius of it,” Alina muttered dryly. “And I wouldn’t say that Zoya is all that sane.”

Conversation died then, leaving all of them in an eerie silence nobody was brave enough to break. 

It felt like hours before they finally reached the ruins of Novokribirsk. In only a few short years, not even yet a decade, the city had definitely become what could be called a husk. It was as though the darkness weighed too heavily on the foundation of the city. With the sweep of Alina’s power, she could see the crumbling buildings, the broken glass, the dark smears that marred wall and road alike.

She tried to not think about whose blood this was.

She remember that Zoya had mentioned having an aunt here once, that if she had known what the Darkling had been planning, she’d never have gone along. Or at least, she would have warned her family away. It made sense, in that vague sort of way, that Zoya would come here. That Zoya would make Alina come here, to face her own guilt.

Because it had been _her_ power, and the antlers that now hung heavier than usual around her neck, that had caused this city to wither like a flower without the sun.

“No sign of the dissenters,” a Heartrender called out to them. 

Somewhere, high above, a shadow scurried.

“They can’t be hard to find,” Alina said in return, unperturbed by the lack of Zoya’s appearance. “In order to stay here, they’d need the light.”

Now she felt burdened by her handpicked army. If she left them, they would fall victim to the volcra, but she didn’t want to feel bogged down by their presence. Taking a deep breath, she wondered what Aleksander would do in her place.

_He wouldn’t have come_ , was her first thought. Not a very helpful one.

Beyond that, though, if her husband had chosen to be as foolish as she was being now, he would wait. She was, after all, Queen of Ravka. She was the Sun Summoner. _Sol Koroleva._

So Alina took a seat on the skiff, turning up her power so that it lit up this portion of the city. Human screeching filled the air in such an awful cacophony, that she nearly puked. It had been a long time since Alina had stepped foot into the Fold, and she had so many other screams to fill her nightmares these days, that she had forgotten the very real and human nature of Aleksander’s monsters.

“So we wait,” Olaf said below the sound, the only one who hadn’t visibly flinched at the volcra. 

She watched him with a discreet stare, wondering how it was that she could find a man who was so like Mal that it hurt. And if she wished to keep him in her army, she could never let Aleksander know who he was. An easy enough task, since he refused to have anything to do with the new Second Army.

“Movement!”

“I count at least four.”

Alina continued to sit, crossing one leg over the other. She had to force herself to look relaxed, even though her entire body buzzed angrily. 

The small group was led by a single person, who held a small, portable light in her hands. It flickered, but the woman didn’t look nervous about her light. She trusted it would hold.

Alina clenched her jaw. 

Zoya trusted David’s work, as they all did.

The group stopped by the skiff. Zoya tilted her head, chin jutted out as if she could look down her nose at Alina. And somehow, _impossibly_ , she managed to do so. So Alina rose, black kefta falling back in place again.

It didn’t escape Zoya’s attention, who looked her over with contempt. “Alina, so glad you could join us.”

“I wish I could say the same for you, Zoya.” A scowl wove its way onto her face.

Zoya tossed her head, dark curls bouncing over her shoulder. Somehow, even is this desolate place, she was still beautiful. As if war and darkness couldn’t keep her down. 

She should have been a queen, not Alina. And yet she was. She would have to act it. To keep her country together.

“Come home,” Alina found herself saying. All eyes were on her, as if they couldn’t believe that she was the one saying this. 

She couldn’t believe it either.

“There is no home for me in Os Alta, not when the Darkling sits on his stolen throne,” Zoya spat.

A flutter of movement outside of the light drew Alina’s attention. She shouldn’t have looked, but she was drawn to it, as if the darkness was calling out to her. She shouldn’t have taken her attention off of such a threat but she did.

Nikolai stood there, near Zoya but not too close. His fingers were clenched, his claws digging into the palms of his monstrous hands. Wings flexed, making her men wary. But his eyes, _Saints_ , she had forgotten about his too human eyes. They stared into her soul and judged her. 

Alina glowered. “So this is where you went.”

A smirk flickered at the corner of Zoya’s mouth. “He knew a real queen when he saw one.” She was quiet for a moment. “He knew what we have always known, Alina. The Darkling cannot live.”

“He can!” Alina argued with a sharp yell. “Haven’t you seen the work we’ve been doing? Haven’t you seen what I can do?”

“I’ve seen that you would rather worship at his side than to fight for what’s right. I already told you, Alina, I won’t live in the darkness.”

She was exasperated, a chill to her voice. “How can there be darkness with me at his side?” A small globe of light formed in her hand, bright and yellow and soft, as opposed to the light she was keeping over her skiff.

A growl came from Nikolai, a warning sort of noise. A warning for who? For which queen?

“We’ve all seen what you are willing to do with your _power_ , Alina Starkov.” Zoya leveled a finger at her, accusatory and harsh. “You lay waste to Fjerda on his orders, and you didn’t even blink an eye.”

“They were our enemies. They _hurt_ Grisha. Zoya, you should--”

“The Darkling is our enemy!”

Cheers rose from the small crowd at Zoya’s side, even while Alina’s own men shifted behind her. A rifle cocked, lost in the sound of cheers. The flicker of fire appeared out of the corner of her eye. Her army was ready for a fight, to die for Ravka and its king. 

“I’m your enemy?” Alina asked.

Nadia stepped up next to Zoya, wedged between her and Nikolai. Dark circles covered her eyes, cast deeper by the light her leader held. “Yes. How could you not be, Alina? You killed Mal, and then you went to warm the Darkling’s bed. You abandoned _everything_ we fought for. You disgraced the sacrifices of the dead who got you where you are.” A choked sob caught in her throat. “You tortured my brother, the same one _you_ saved.”

The sting of Adrik’s death was still an open wound for Alina, still haunted her. She carried him like a ghost on her back, his weight just as heavy as Mal’s. As Baghra’s. Her gaze fell on Nikolai, and she knew it was his weight that she carried, too. That she would continue to carry it with his betrayal now.

“You declared yourself an enemy when you did not sink your blade into his chest,” Zoya said softly. For the first time, Alina could see the hurt in her once friend’s face, the utter pain of Alina’s betrayal, of what this fight was going to be.

All at once, Alina understood. There would be no way she could convince Zoya to come home. That she had gone mad with the power that Alina had left behind when she became queen of Ravka. Zoya truly thought herself a replacement for the Sun Summoner, and Alina didn’t know how she could help her in that case.

“I’m willing,” Alina began, “to give you all one last chance.”

This time, she turned her gaze on the small group. It was them that she was addressing. They had been taken in by a charlatan, by a woman masquerading as some sort of savior. But there were no heroes in Ravka - except for Alina herself, who had tempered the beast and begun to heal her country.

“Renounce your loyalties to Zoya and her propaganda, and the only one who will be charged with treason today will be Zoya herself.”

“I will _never_ betray the _Veterok Koroleva_ ,” Nadia spat. Alina had already assumed that. Adrik’s death and time in hiding must has stiffened Nadia’s spine even more, and Alina wasn’t sure if she was too bothered by her loss.

But the others - they deserved a chance. 

“Does Nadia speak for you all?”

Zoya did not look back at her people, but kept her blue gaze on Alina herself. She didn’t even look worried, much to Alina’s chagrin. And she supposed she didn’t need to be. None of them spoke. None of them turned to one another as if wondering who would break. They watched Alina with the same stony silence and unnerving flicker of light in their eyes as their chosen queen did.

Alina turned to look at Nikolai again, but he had slipped into the shadows as if he knew the fight that was to come.

She wondered who it would be, in the end, that he’d protect.


	7. Traitorously

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI I'VE RETURNED. Also, a note, I accidentally wrote two different things about that Olaf dude, but he is definitely an older guy. Sorry about that.

**i.**

The wind smacked against her before she had a chance to turn back to Zoya, Alina’s mind on Nikolai rather than where it should have been. She remembered, only a few years ago, the kind of power that Zoya had, and the dirty tricks she hadn’t hesitated to use during training. It seemed that that part of Zoya hadn’t changed.

The hit was sharp, pressing against her chest hard enough that she had no choice but to stumble a step or two back. She tried to ignore that her men were watching her, that at any moment, her carefully gained loyalty could be snapped like a twig. Those were ridiculous fears.

“Pay attention, Alina,” Zoya teased with a snide voice. “You might learn something.”

Alina growled, straightening her stance again. Her palms glowed. “There is nothing that you can teach me. There never has been.”

Words die as she threw a bright spark of her power arcing at the false queen. A screeching fell through the air, but Alina wasn’t sure if it was human or volcra. The world, for a single second was blindingly white. For them, at least. Alina used the flash bomb advantage to move through, her eyes adjusting to the shadows on the ground still. While this particular use of her power had the capability of causing her to go blind as well, she had been working with it to find her own advantages. 

Her elbow jerked back, fingers tightly balled up. She could end this fast, she knew. She could burn them all up, she could watch Zoya disintegrate into ash. Wasn’t that what she had done with Fjerda? Wasn’t she capable of killing those for the greater good of Ravka, for the people who needed her protection? Her fist met resistance against the shield of wind that Zoya had called up. It felt like daggers against Alina’s skin as she danced away again, the darkness of the Fold crashing back in around them.

Bright blood dripped from her torn knuckles, but she ignored the stinging pain.

She could have used the Cut, but she did not. Alina cared too much, she realized. She cared too much about what it was that Zoya thought of her. She cared about Nadia. And it was absolutely ridiculously, but it seemed like she could feel Nikolai’s stare and the flutter of his wings.

It weighed on her chest, and her amplifiers ached as she clenched her teeth and screamed. Zoya’s expression shuttered, her face a beautiful, blank mask. Determined. Regardless of how she felt, she was going to keep bottled up while Alina leaked.

The light glowed under her own skin as Zoya’s arms waved again, kicking up dirt around them. It slashed at Alina, taking her by surprise. She had been honing her skills as well, but Alina had already known that. The false queen had found a way to mimic both the King and Queen of Ravka’s signature ability: she had found a way to sharpen her wind into tiny blades.

If Alina was to win this confrontation, if she were to put Ravka back together, she couldn’t let her own feelings distract. She would have to cut herself off. Taking in a deep breath, she steadied herself, stilling the pounding of her heart and the uncertainty of herself. Her men needed her. Aleksander needed her.

Nikolai would need her. He _had to_. Who else would be there to save him from what he was? 

She did not need Zoya, whose words would always cast doubt over the people who listened to her.

When she went for the strike this time, she focused a tiny flash of light in Zoya’s eyes, blinding her long enough to land a hard hit. It knocked Zoya off, but it didn’t put her out, and before Alina could move, she was already moving in, her fist hitting the queen in her gut. Alina doubled over with a gasp. Zoya had _let_ herself be hit, to get Alina in close.

Stupid, stupid. She was making so many mistakes. She couldn’t. She wasn’t the same girl she had been so long ago. Maybe she wasn’t the soldier that Zoya was, but she was by no means weak. 

Zoya’s fingers tangled in her hair, but Alina was already reaching up, up, until her hands found Zoya’s bare skin. The smell of burned flesh and hair hit her nostrils hard, and Zoya’s followers screamed her name. Screamed for her to stop, to run, to kill. Kill the traitorous queen. 

_Zoya, Zoya, Zoya._

A shot rang out. A rebel fell in a spurt of blood. 

They had warned their people not to get involved. This was not a war, but a fight of dominance. 

They had neglected to heed their warnings. Alina seethed, but Zoya turned to see who it was that had died, despite the whimpers of pain that she was making, her feet carrying her backwards as far as she could manage. Alina didn’t recognize them, and she didn’t take the time to care. 

Nadia retaliated, but still Alina didn’t care. Let them all kill each other. 

With a growl, she reached out, grabbing Zoya and tugging her roughly back to where they had drawn their lines. “You--”

Zoya’s eyes flashed darkly. There was a rage in there that she hadn’t seen before, a madness, a clarity, an ancient thing that had only existed in the phoenix, in the sea whip. In the soft gaze of Morozova’s stag. 

The air around Alina tightened, and the sounds around them seemed to echo from a far away place. Her words cut off, choked. Zoya’s hand was outstretched, fingertips barely brushing Alina’s throat, but it still felt like her windpipe was being crushed, that the air was leaving her lungs in a burning trail. She gasped, but to no avail. The wind whipped around her head, precious air that she wasn’t allowed to have. Dark spots crawled over her vision, and Zoya’s face blinked out of existence for a moment. Or, perhaps, that was her light, slowly dimming out. 

From far away, or maybe too close for her taste, the cries of volcra and man rang out around them. With her protection gone, her men were vulnerable. _She_ was vulnerable. Her legs quivered, and she fell to her knees before she could stop herself. Desperately, she tried to summon the sun in her palms, at her fingertips. They flickered in and out like bugs.

And then she could breathe again, sucking it in with a hoarse cry. Zoya screamed, fighting off the monster that had fallen on her. 

_Nikolai_.

“Why would you choose to save her?” Zoya raged. Nikolai was thrown off of her, Alina watching as she panted heavily. “She has kept you this way. She cannot be your salvation. Nikolai. _Look_ at her.”

Catching himself, Nikolai scrambled back up, but his silence was deafening. 

Her heart crawled up her throat. Nikolai had chosen her. He had abandoned her, and he had saved her. Alina could not begin to imagine why, except that maybe he had seen sense. Zoya could never give Nikolai what he wanted so desperately. His voice, his humanity. She was nothing but a fraud.

Those words drummed against her skin.

Zoya had to be stopped. She would destroy everything. She would ruin everything Alina had sacrificed for.

She drew her arm up, power gathering at her fingertips. The rebel leader turned on Alina, the recognition in her eyes trying so desperately to beat Alina down. A shadow blurred around her, stepping in front of her path even as Zoya pulled a shield around her. 

Nikolai stood in her way. 

“Move,” she ordered him, but he would not.

Shakily, she climbed to her feet again, anger burning away at her. 

“Move!”

Her arm moved to slash down, regardless of Nikolai was in the way, and she could see that he knew that. That she wouldn’t stop. That he would force her to do to this. With a cry of outrage, her body turned, the Cut arcing a different path, clawing up the ground and kiling a volcra in the process. Or another human. She didn’t know. She _didn’t care._

Zoya tackled her in her moment of weakness, attempting to close Alina off from oxygen once more. But Alina was faster. Alina had learned Zoya’s tricks, and she would make up for her mistakes. She thought of the _nichevo’ya_ and of what Aleksander had done to Nikolai and of her own power.

Why kill Zoya when she could punish her that way? Take away everything that made Zoya who she was, strip her of everything until she had nothing left but Alina to hate, to worship, to be forgiveness from? This was all her fault. If she had just listened. If she had just went along with Alina and understood what was best for them all. 

A golden orb grew in her hand, and she could see that Nikolai knew exactly what was happening before Zoya registered it, so focused as she was on killing Alina. He grabbed for Zoya, but not before Alina could reach for her open-mouthed scream, before her ball of light slipped past her teeth.

Still, the monster that had once been a prince tossed Zoya aside like a ragdoll. His claws dug into Alina’s shoulders, drawing blood as he hefted her to her feet and she miserably sucked for the air that came easily to her again. Around them was nothing but death and blood and the awful screaming of everything she had never wanted. 

_This has happened before_ , she thought to herself. Her muscles felt slack, and pain thrummed through every nerve ending. 

She could see, from over Nikolai’s shoulder, that Zoya was convulsing now, her body glowing as brightly as Alina’s skin had done. And she smiled.

Whether or not Zoya lived through her punishment didn’t matter now. Her skin would burn up. She would disintegrate. Ravka would be safe. 

Thank the Saints, Ravka would be whole.

A scream tore through the air as a bloodied Nadia came for Alina, a blade in her hands. She was so weak, but the Sun Summoner gritted her teeth, waving her hand down as a yellow flash split the Squaller in half.

This death did not bring her any kind of satisfaction. Just a feeling of ache and tired resolution.

Her legs shook as Nikolai pulled her closer.

**ii.**

When Alina woke up again, she knew that she was no longer in the Fold. The air tasted stale around her, and the ground was hard beneath her back. Her head pounded mercilessly, spots still floating in her sight.

And above her, a shadow fell.

“You are foolish,” her husband said to her. A quiet anger burned in his eyes, but it was a welcome sight. To be alive, to know that she had caused him this kind of rage. To know he was angry because she hadn’t told him, but that he couldn’t be justified in his anger. She was Queen, and she was the Summoner, and she had done exactly what he had wanted done all along: she had stopped the rebellion.

“That is not quite the thank you I had been hoping for her,” Alina croaked. It hurt to talk, her throat raw. Her eyelids felt so heavy, so she closed her eyes and cut Aleksander out of her sight. But his presence was overbearing.

“Thank you? For causing a mess? For nearly killing your entire squad. If not for Krasavet, you would have been dead yourself.” 

Olaf. She he had survived. 

A smile curled at her lips. “He is a good soldier.”

“He is loyal.”

But that was not what had happened, she remembered dully. Because Nikolai had been there, and he had clutched her to him. Not to attack her, but to hold her. She had…

Her lips pressed together, smile dying. Opening her eyes again, she noticed that Aleksander had knelt beside her now. His hands were warm and steady as he helped her to sit up. 

“Zoya is dead,” Alina told him. 

In the distance, she could see the border that led to the Fold, the darkness that had swallowed the world whole. There were so many graves in that place. So many lives that had once been precious to Alina. She blinked rapidly but felt relief when she did not burst into tears. She would not cry in front of this man. 

She would not give him the satisfaction of comforting her.

“There is one last thing that we must do,” he whispers to her. Aleksander leaned forward, his mouth ghosting over the bruises on her throat.

She made a pleased noise in the back of her throat, despite herself. “What is there left to do?”

“Genya and David must be dealt with.”

Alina stilled, a chill freezing her blood. No, not Genya. Anyone but Genya. He had done enough to her. “No.”

“They were working with Zoya, Alina. I allowed them to continue in the hopes that they would switch sides, to keep you from being hurt--”

“No!” She shoved at her husband, pushing him over as she climbed to her feet. Her chest heaved with panic, seething at the very idea. “They have not done anything that requires--”

“They are traitors,” Aleksander cut her off with his soft words. Sharp, clear, but gentle. As if he were trying to protect her from the inevitable. She didn’t believe him. 

“I know what you do with traitors,” she snapped.

“And I know what you do with them, too.” He reached out and took her hand, and Saints save her, she let him. She let his mouth touch her skin with such aching tenderness that she wanted to rip herself open. She wanted him to go away, and she wanted him to stay by her side and never leave. Never go away, she wanted to scream.

**iii.**

David did not resist.

Except for when they asked about Genya’s whereabouts. 

Except for when he nearly killed the Darkling with his newest invention.

**iv.**

Genya had fled the moment the Darkling had left Os Alta, which had been foolish on his part. If he had wanted to punish them both, Alina felt that he should have locked them both away.

She closed her eyes and pictured her friend and her beautiful child. Her sources said that she had been seen leaving with a large man, and without a doubt, Alina knew that Tolya had rescued Genya.

But how had she been convinced to leave David behind?

She sat outside of his cell door the morning before his execution, watching him wheeze for breath. She wanted to tell him that she knew how it felt to not breathe, but perhaps it wasn’t the best idea for now.

“I’m sorry,” is what she managed to whisper. 

“You can still change it,” David told her. 

Alina had a million questions, but no room to hurt David further. 

It was best that Genya was gone.

**v.**

She wore David’s death like another layer. 

It made her heavy. It made her angry.

This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. It wasn’t. They were supposed to rebuild Ravka. To change things for the better. 

And they were, she knew that. But it wasn’t right. There was too much missing, too much gone. 

Grief choked her, and when Aleksander made to touch her, to soothe her fears away with the power of his words, with his silver tongue, she felt the revulsion eating at her. It burned at her stomach and twisted her lungs and stabbed her heart, over and over again.

**vi.**

“We still have not found the traitor, Genya Safin,” Olaf reported. 

Alina looked up from her desk, her lips purses. She hated that word. It was disgusting, tasted like dirt in her mouth. Genya had been her friend, her only friend besides Mal. “She must have gotten out of the country.”

“Permission to speak freely, _Tsaritsa_.”

She waved the general to go on ahead. He took a step closer to her desk. “We do not have the time or energy or manpower to continue this manhunt,” Olaf told her.

Alina brushed her dry, pale hair back. “I agree. I will let the Darkling know that we have made that decision.” She stood up with a sigh.

It had been half a year since David’s execution, but there hadn’t even been so much a whisper of rebellion, or of Genya, in that time. Had she truly never cared for David, that she could so easily leave Ravka and let him die in her place? If they had both been here, Alina felt that she could have found a way for mercy. She could have changed Aleksander’s mind. What were a few more promises, a few more years of her life to whatever he wanted?

For Genya, she would have done it. 

And now, Alina was alone. She was feared and respected, but she was alone. She had destroyed the people she loved, and it ate at her.

She had married a monster who only liked to prolong her suffering.

Olaf watched her, his gaze following the lines of her body as she sat on the edge of her desk. She took to looking him over. If Mal had lived, if he had had the chance to grow older, is this the man he would have become?

“ _Sankta?”_

She closed her eyes and wished that he was gone. She wished that she was gone, too. That she was not a saint or a queen or the summoner. Just Alina. 

“Go,” she finally told him. “You’re dismissed.”

Olaf hesitated, and it almost made her crack. It almost made her reach for him so she could pretend he was someone different. So she could end his life, too, and rid herself of the temptation. He bowed low, and then he left.

**vii.**

Nikolai was curled in a corner of Baghra’s hut, waiting for her when she stepped inside. She had found him here a couple of months ago, and this was where he stayed.

She sat in Baghra’s chair as usual, staring at the empty fireplace. He shifted, claws tapping on the wooden floor. They never talked, and she never stayed for long but today, she could not find a way to leave him. 

But today, she looked at him and remembered the bite of his claws and the way he had saved her. The way he had tried to keep her from becoming the same monster that Aleksander was. She thought of the pain of Genya’s absence and David’s hatred and the tightness of Mal’s ribs around her wrist. She thought of Aleksander and of a prince who could charm the world.

Alina slid to her knees on the floor, a choked sob rising out of her.

She thought of Adrik and Nadia, dead because of her. 

Her vision went blurry, the world sliding into a mass of shadows. Her shoulders shook violently at the silent sobs, as if she were afraid her screams would bring Aleksander here. He would discover Nikolai, and then she would lose him too.

The monster shifted closer, and she felt Nikolai’s arms go around her, his wings folded as if to hide her from the world. And she cried into his shoulder, ignoring the smell of rotting meat and blood.

He held her even after she had stopped shaking, as if he knew exactly what it was she needed. He took his hand and pressed it to her chest, right over her heart. Somehow, impossibly, after these past few years, there was something still human in his gaze. Her hand rested over his heart, feeling the strange beats against her fingertips.

“You left me,” she whispered, taking a deep breath. “I can’t release you, Nikolai. I can’t. Not yet.”

Somehow, the look he gave her, he already knew that this would be her answer.

It was a punishment, but it was more. She was unable to make her own monsters; how could she ever reverse something of Aleksander’s creation then?


	8. Absence of Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I am so sorry for the long time between updates. I am hoping to keep this regularly updated from now on. :3 Thanks for being patient, guys. Also this is an interlude kind of chapter to speed up to the current story line.

**i.**

It was interesting to Alina, as time went on, how her pain dulled. It roiled like a storm at sea in her chest, and those images merely worked to make her feel more hurt and anger. But that eased as year after year crept past her. Her chest was not so tight. She did not wake up in the morning drenched in her own sweat. She did not scream at night after a decade.

Loneliness clung to her skin like a finer dress than any her seamstresses could make for her, and if she could not slough it off in the same way, she was resigned to accept it. Instead, what she had was her husband.

And instead, what they had continued to be tumultuous. 

She learned to welcome it. The fierce arguments, the furniture they were constantly replacing. The pressure of his arms around her waist and the bite of his teeth on her skin. He would stay with her, after the nightmares were truly gone. He would sleep in her bed and she would watch his pale chest rise and fall and wonder at the beauty of a man she hated as much as she desired.

If she was being generous, if they had gone to sleep needy and satisfied, she would let her thoughts drift to other thoughts. Love. She loved him as much as she hated him. The feelings were one and the same, too entwined to be anything else. Just as they were, as more years fell at their feet. She was too much his to say she did not love him.

But mostly she welcomed the times when she pushed him away. She thought of running, of leaving him to his power and hiding in the safer parts of the world that had not been touched by their sovereignty yet. The taste would be on her tongue, like cool water from a spring, like the first flower in bloom. Alina never left, though. Not far, at least. Not for very long. A few years, at most, when she would take up campaign or when she would settle herself into the newly built capital of Fjerda. 

She would take lovers then, men who were all too human and weak and smelled of oil, dirt, sweat. 

Men that had brown hair and blue eyes.

Men that were blonde and smiles like devils. 

Men that would disappear as suddenly as she had wrapped them around her finger. 

Aleksander was, after all, a jealous man. And she was not quite so attached to any of them to make her suffer unduly for her discretions. He accepted her choice to have them, but the men? There was no escape from the wrath of the Ravkan King.

Alina had learned long ago that there were some things that her husband felt he had to continue to prove, and so she let him. There was a comfort in the familiarity of their routine.

**ii.**

A little girl with a mass of fiery curls ducked into an alleyway behind a bakery. Her stomach sounded more like a wild animal than hunger pangs, and she pressed her hand over it like she would a mouth. Hush, she wanted to whisper. Now was not the time to be thinking about bread and the welcoming smell of the ovens.

Home had smelled that way once, before her mama had gotten too sick to stand, let alone cook. She had begged and begged her mama to let her use her gift. Just one time, one time to earn the coin they would need for the medicine.

But there had been a wild fear in her mama’s eyes that made them go almost entirely white, and though she was weak with fever, she still managed to leave bruises on the girl’s arm.

“You heard your father,” her mama had hissed. “Nobody must ever know what you are.”

“But Grisha--”

“You are special, my heart.” Shaky hands had smoothed down those errant curls. A gift from her father, which was a gift from his mother and her mother before her. Just like their ability.

The girl stared at her fingers now, dirty and too thin when they should have been pudgy with youth. A slight smile cracked her chapped lips open. For a ten year old, she sure felt wiser, older. At the same time, though, there was a hollowness in her chest that ached for her mama and someone to make it all better.

The sound of boots slapping against wet concrete jolted her out of her memory.

Her father had said to never ever use their ability. It had made him weak and sick, like her mama. But worse. He was denying something that she already knew was part of herself. 

Anna’s breath quickened. There was no time to debate the morals of this situation, over whether or not her parents had been right in making her hide what she could do. All she knew was that she was special, and that she had a right to protect herself.

“Here, little duckling,” cooed her pursuer for the last time.

\--

Anna’s smile did not crack her face this time as she strolled out of that dark alleyway. Her straight black hair fell to her shoulders softly. Her pockets lay heavier with the stolen coin, but her mind was at ease knowing that she could take care of herself against predators.

**iii.**

Alina watched Nikolai with patience. He often did this, appeared from nowhere when she was far from home. Watching her. Waiting. After the first century, she had long since stopped praying for his death, for his release from this life. She would sometimes wonder if she had the power to restore him, but a vague restlessness would accompany the thoughts. She would remember the way that Zoya’s skin had glowed, and she would remember David’s death. 

The nightmares would come back, her wrist would grow heavy.

Guilt was a trying creature for a woman meant to live as long as she would.

She was sure, in these moments, that she could do it. Reverse what the Darkling had done to him. She was sure that he would not be prepared for it. That what he was now would be what he was for an eternity, until his body finally did wither away.

That empty feeling bloomed in her chest as she shielded her eyes and watched him. 

He was a dark presence, foreboding. 

A few of her more religious soldiers, at the sight of his figure in the sky, would begin to pray. She would bite her tongue, for to scold them would only make them hate her more, fear her more. If she was in close enough distance, her hand would rest lightly on their shoulders.

“Do not see it as a bad omen,” she would murmur in her softest voice, but it would still carry. “The saints merely wish to send us a messenger for their wills.”

Alina hoped that when she spoke these words, with new soldiers each time, that they would keep silent about the monster that flew overhead. A cold dread walked fingers down her spine each time Nikolai would dare to appear in front of others, not all whose loyalty she had secured. As much as she fought for it, schemed, planned, Aleksander found a way to weave into her ranks. And if he knew about Nikolai…

Perhaps that was the prince’s plan each time. Someone would tell the Darkling, let it slip without realizing what they were doing, and that would be the end of him.

She should put him out of his misery herself. It should be her.

“Why do you do this?” she asked him one night, but there was no response. There never was. He watched her with hard hazel eyes instead. She began to notice that, over time, the humanity slowly ebbed from them.

How long would it be until he was nothing more than an animal, and she could finally rid herself of his reminder?

“Go away, Nikolai.”

Her words always went unheeded. As with Aleksander, only Alina seemed to exist for Nikolai. She was a beacon that drew monsters in.

Her hand slid over his face, cupping a furred cheek. There were so many words on the tip of her tongue, and none of them were adequate enough. Whatever this Alina was now, it was not the Alina she had been once.

**iv.**

Centuries pass, but few traditions ever completely leave the minds of the Ravkans. And though generations have been raised to realize that their King and Queen are all powerful, conquerors, _immortal_ the people whisper, traditions rarely fall apart completely. 

They speak of it at dinner parties, among the nobility, in the colonies of Fjerda where Ravkan ancestors first went to help rebuild. 

_An heir_ , they whisper. _Where is the heir?_

There was no son to inherit the throne. The fanatics, those who worshipped the Grisha as holy, would claim there was no need for a son. There was no need for an heir when _Sankta_ Alina and the Darkling did not age, did not die. 

But tradition was the heart of Ravka, and it was the one thing that the Darkling could not rip out of their hearts.

His lip would curl in disgust whenever he heard such prattle, and Alina would hide her smile from behind her hand. It was not the best attempt at hiding.

“Do you find me amusing?”

“It’s just talk,” Alina laughed. Her hand dropped to her side, no longer bothering to hide the smirk that curled her lips. 

The look her husband gave her was all too flat, all too human. Something about it softened her in ways that she hated. When had their marriage stopped being about Ravka and become something more intimate? When would she stop letting herself be separate from him?

She reached out a hand, slipping it into his and tugging him closer to her. “Let the people talk, Aleksander. That is what people do, and we cannot police every single peasant, every single noble. Even the Grisha talk about it. Our servants. Our armies. It’s natural.”

Even as Alina said them, though, she knew that what her and Aleksander were wasn’t natural. And she didn’t need to be a mind reader to understand that whatever he would tolerate from her, it would not be children. 

“We do not need an heir,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over the top of his head. Strands of dark hair came loose from his ponytail, and with her free hand, she smoothed them back down, trailing after his own hand. 

“We do not.”

Why would she bring a child into his world?

**v.**

Centuries pass, and small rebellions always pop up. They always take care of it. Small groups are no match for them, and they never let anything take root for as long as Zoya’s Rebellion. It was what the people began to call it, a title that history could never seem to eradicate. Each time Alina heard it, something dark would swirl in her heart, and she had been known to set flame to those that said it in her presence. 

That was the rumor, at least, one that parents told their children at night to keep them well behaved. To not speak of rebellion or the Wind Queen who had once thought to fight the Sun Queen.

_Careful now, or_ Sankta _Alina might get you in your sleep._

It bothered Alina at first, but that also ebbed away, the same as her loneliness.

She was a tyrant. She was beloved. It all mattered on the year it was.

But there were always pockets of rebellions that rose up, as if they stood a chance against the united might of the Ravkan monarchy.

**vi.**

Darkness had been her only friend. There was no time, there was just darkness. Except for the glow of her skin, which she had learned once was her saving grace from the creatures that had thought to make a meal of her. They did not become friends. In fact, she could hardly tolerate them, their constant screeching for attention and hunger.

But they were useful to her, there was no doubt about it. It was not often, but parties of others would travel through her darkness. She could not say why it was important, but she knew it was best to hide. Their warning cries came in use then.

Once, a small group had found her. A fear had settled in her body, hard as rock. She could taste theirs, too, however, and when it came down to her life versus theirs, she whipped them across the darkness and laughed when the annoying animals from above swooped out of the sky to take them away to their nests.

That had happened only once, of course, at some undetermined point of time, but it had won loyalty of the local annoyances. Food, they had chirped.

They were hungry brutes, that was for certain.

She could not remember much of her life before the darkness and the soft glow of her skin, before the annoyances and the fear of others finding her here. She only knew survival and the bitter need to escape from the safety of her friend.

She could not say when she decided to start walking or which direction she was going in, where it would lead her. But she walked. And her annoyances followed her. She attempted to scare them off, waving her arms and hissing at them in their language. But they still followed, for the light was now their friend in the same way the darkness was hers. 

It was a begrudging acceptance that allowed them to accompany her.

**vii.**

Alina sat heavily in the chair in Baghra’s hut. It was, of course, a new chair. And a renovated hut. Three hundred years had proved to be too much for most of the items in the place, and although Aleksander had not approved of her side project, Alina was used to not listening to him to begin with. Still, despite the changes and the ravages of time, it still felt like the old woman’s place, and there was comfort in that.

The fire was already going, a trick that Nikolai had picked up over the years. She could only hope that Aleksander did not see the smoke before she arrived, but he was so adamant on not having anything to do with his mother, she doubted it. She stared into the flames, felt their warmth on her cheeks, and realized for the first time since she had lost _everything_ that had been hers, she was at a loss.

Nikolai perched in the corner, still as a statue. Waiting, as always. For her to kill him. For her to free him. 

When she glanced at him, she found that she could find no words. As always.

But it must have been the look on her face, the paleness of her skin, the haunted roundness of her eyes. Because he crept forward, like a wounded dog coming back to its master.

Her lips parted, and she sighed.

“I’m pregnant.”


	9. Weaknesses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, it's been a while. Hope you guys are still hanging around and are excited!!!

**i.**

Aleksander’s eyes dropped to where her stomach was still flat - at least beneath her _kefta_. Alina herself had already begun to see the subtle changes of her own body, the softness of her belly, the rounding of her hips. She had seen pregnant women before, of course, but only had been near one in her lifetime.

Memories of Genya stretched thin before her, nearly translucent.

What she wouldn’t give, at this moment, in all of her moments, to have Genya again. 

“How?”

Alina pursed her lips. “How do you think? The way babies are made has never really changed, Aleksander.”

If there had been a chance she could have run, if she could have hidden away for the duration of it and given birth in secret… But no. She had mulled over that idea with Nikolai as her only witness. What then would she do with the child? The idea of giving it away was something foreign to her, even though she was not sure had any desire to keep it either. Her child, the potential heir to the throne, the child of the Darkling and the Sun Summoner, being raised by some stranger.

Her fingers spread across her abdomen. No, she would not put anyone in that kind of danger.

And to leave Ravka herself? To let Aleksander rule without her?

She had sacrificed too much to let him take what she helped built.

He stared at her, hard, as if he couldn’t quite put the thought together. “I must admit, I did not think... “ His cold gaze flickered to where her hand rested across her belly. “I did not think there would be a need for an heir.”

Alina’s mouth pulled into a taut line across her face. It was, perhaps, the worst smile she had come up with. “All I do is for the people of Ravka.”

They were careless. But it was more than that, perhaps. Alina wasn’t quite sure either of them _could_ have a child. She wasn’t certain of anything that had come from Baghra, but it had sounded as though she had manipulated what she could to have Aleksander, so long ago. Or had Baghra always been capable of having a child? And for what purpose?

Alina stared at her husband and wondered what a woman like Baghra really wanted with a baby, with raising a child. Her hand went to her belly, and the Darkling stared at the spot with the intensity one stares at a piece of rotting food on their plate. 

His movements were jerky, as if he were forcing himself to walk over to her, to cover her hand with his. In that instant, she felt her heart leap into her throat, and she wondered at all of the things her husband was capable of. She knew him well enough to know for certain that even his own flesh and blood could be a curse to him. The things that stood in their way, in _his_ way, they didn’t stand there for long. How many bodies had they left behind them as proof of that?

How many _druskelle_ had been strung along their palace walls in a cruel design?

Alina’s gaze never wavered from his, though, even as she thought she might throw up.

That could have been the morning sickness, she tried to tell herself.

Not fear.

Not worry. 

What fears did she have with a man she had doomed herself to be with forever?

Despite herself, the corner of her mouth curled up at the joke. 

“I want this child,” Alina told him. “I want _our_ child.” She moved her hand out of the way, keeping his pressed to her abdomen instead. What she wanted was for him to feel the life inside of her, the stirrings of the both of them combined. 

“This child will be a weakness. Mewling and unprotected.”

“That has always been the problem with wanting, Aleksander.”

His mouth is a cruel imitation of her own smile. “Yes, I suppose it is, my wife.” Leaning in, his lips brushed across her forehead. “The child of the Darkling and _Sankta_ Alina. Perhaps this could prove useful.”

She knew him better than that, but she could only hope that this once, he could find it in himself to do as he told her. To find a use for a child and to give her something she wanted.

**ii.**

Alina tried hard to concentrate on her general’s words as he delivered his weekly reports, she really did. But it was hard to focus on the words, when her stomach felt like it was rolling. Sickness was not a Grisha occurrence, unless said Grisha was getting used to a growing life inside of her. Another wave, and she let his words become a buzzing background noise as all of her concentration went to the way her body fluttered and her skin crawled at the feel of an alien life inside of her. Moving, kicking. 

Her breath came out in a shuddering sigh. It was alive. It was a real thing, this tiny creation. 

_“Tsarina?”_

The spell broken, Alina’s head snapped up again. There was a twinge in her neck. “General Yenin?”

There was a flash of irritation across his face. Brief, of course, but not brief enough to be hidden from his queen, his commanding officer. He was in his position because she had deemed it, had kept the Second Army from being eviscerated by so many others. Alina took a deep breath, leaning forward now and pretending to not recognize the stirrings inside of her. Her hands clasped together.

“Do we have a problem?”

Sunlight pooled from her fingertips like thin ribbons, leaving scorch marks in the wood of her desk. Smoke curled like tendrils up, around her face, and though she couldn’t see herself in the moment, she could see the reflection in her general’s eyes and the flicker of fear that reminded her of a candle in a breeze.

“No, _tsarina_.” Yenin bowed impossibly low, bent forward at the waist until she was sure his nose might actually touch the floor. 

She smiled, and the added glow dissipated as easily as if it wasn’t there. The room, though, suddenly looked much darker than it had. “Continue with your report then.”

It had been this way since her and Aleksander had announced her pregnancy a month before. As if suddenly she was less than what she was. That her sainthood, her immortality, the stories told to children at night to keep them afraid of her, it was all nothing because of the life she carried inside of her. They were picking her apart to the bits and pieces that made her up.

Funny, how a people could worship her and demand an heir in the same breath. Perhaps Aleksander was right. 

But each flutter inside of her body reminded her that it was worth it. 

And that Alina could be as terrifying as her husband. 

**iii.**

“There is always talk of rebellion,” Alina said.

Next to her husband, Ivar folded his hands on the table. This was her husband’s new pet project, another heartrender. She wondered at the name the first time they had been introduced, when he had been nothing but a slip of a boy pulled out of the wilds of New Fjerda. Now he had filled out, blonde hair cropped close to his skull, an emptiness in his blue eyes. A distant memory stirred when she looked at him, of Ivan’s sneer and superiority.

But at least he had feeling. He was a person, Alina remembered.

“And it is always best to silence the talk,” Ivar countered.

She had to force herself to not grind her teeth together. Or burn him alive like his ancestors. “If we silenced every person who uttered a word of dissent, we would have no country.”

The flicker of a smile moved across the Darkling’s mouth. “My wife has always had a soft spot for rebellions.”

Her head snapped in his direction, the corners of her mouth pinched white from how tightly she held her lips pressed together. No, no she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her angry or upset. She was a queen. She was the Sun Summoner. A saint. She would not fall victim to his bait as she always has, especially not in public. Especially not in front of his pets. But the rage bat around in her like a beast, curling in her blood and clawing up her throat. _It’s the hormones_ , she tried to tell herself. Pregnancy was rough on her.

Alina forced herself to take a deep breath. She forced herself to relax her mouth as her hands moved over the bump of her stomach. A smile flashed over her face, as bright as any light she had ever summoned. A few of the others relaxed a bit, their shoulders easing as the tension ran out of them.

“And I know exactly what it takes to end one,” she said gently. The bones at her wrist clink against the wooden table, drawing attention to them. 

Ivar smiled. “I would never go so far as to say that you could not end one, _tsarina_ , just that we are pushing for an alliance with the Shu. I would hate to see our hard work wasted because we ignored the worst of the dissenters.”

Alina’s nostrils flared. She hated his smile. It was cold and tasteless and it felt like he was merely pandering to her. He was a _child_ compared to her. He was as insignificant as a bug. She wished to toy with him, to see how far she could push him. She wondered if he would fight back or if the Darkling would order him to let her do as she wished until he broke.

No. No, she had to swallow those thoughts and forget about them. That wasn’t who she was. Torture was distasteful and left something bitter in her mouth.

It had been a long time since she thought of her poorly made decision to experiment on Zoya to bring her down, but it was why she couldn’t stomach doing things that she felt were unnecessary. 

She brought her gaze up to her husband’s. “You are in agreement with him?”

The Darkling looked bored of the meeting. Or irritated. The emotions looked the same on his face, an almost flat expression she had gotten used to. “I agree that I do not wish to risk our alliance. You are in a delicate condition, my love, and a war like the one we raged on Fjerda is not in our best interest.”

Beneath his words, Alina knew what he meant. It would weaken them. Her pregnancy weakened them.

A child would weaken them.

“General Yenin.”

“Yes, _moi tsaritsa._ ” Her general sat up straighter now, waiting for whatever orders she might give him.

“I would like an investigation in the nearby cities. A quiet one. Any dissenters should be followed and questioned only if there seems to be a legitimate concern. Understood?”

The man stood and bowed, a fist pressed tightly to his chest as he did so.

He did not bow to his king before he left the room to carry out her orders.

Alina smiled.

The Darkling did not.

**iv.**

“You think I’m a tyrant, don’t you?”

The creature that was once a prince tilted his head at the queen. She was leaned back in a chair so old, it had every right to disintegrate beneath her, but it had been holding up quite well over time. Her ankles were sore, her feet felt like they bled every time she walked, and so they were resting up high as well to get the blood flowing again. 

The hunkered shadow in the corner just watched her. He couldn’t talk, of course. She wondered, if she fixed him, if he would know what words even were any longer. 

“You didn’t get the chance to be king,” Alina said softly. “You don’t know what it is like, the toll it takes on you.”

Her stomach had bloomed with child, skin stretching impossibly. Her hands rested firmly on it, and she was rewarded with a kick. Pregnancy was not a beautiful miracle, Alina had decided. It was pain and torture and tiresome. She wanted to never experience this again, but the child itself? The child was worth it, regardless of what Aleksander thought, regardless of how her people saw her now. She had long ago forgot what reason she was still ruling Ravka for. 

Her baby would give her purpose again. 

“I’ve heard them call me tyrant,” she continued. “A monster, a saint, a savior, Empress.”

Whore.

That one she didn’t want to say out loud. Nikolai’s moods were hard to read most of the time, and she didn’t want him to agree with that one. She didn’t want to see him get angry, either.

“I think the Darkling’s pet has been attempting to turn him against me.” A quirk of a smile tugged at her lips. “It couldn’t happen, of course. He’s worked too hard to get me here to decide to turn against me. I am still the Sun Summoner, after all.”

Light flickers between her fingers, rolling between them. Nikolai hisses softly, one wing moving in front of his face to keep his sight safe. 

“Sorry.” The light went out, and she heard the rustle of his wing returning in place. “You’d think you would get used to that by now.”

His shoulders came up in a shrug.

“You will need to leave again soon.” Her eyes drifted shut, no longer having the strength to keep them open. She listened as Nikolai’s hulking form shifted on the floor, the clink of claw against dirt as he moved closer to her. She stiffened when those claws scraped over her, feeling the sharp pricks through her dress as he laid a hand over her child. “He is throwing a _fete_ for the Shu ambassadors. Having you too close could be dangerous.”

**v.**

Nikolai had never been very good at listening, of course. 

A servant pinned Alina’s silver hair up with jeweled combs. For a moment, she was distracted from watching Nikolai perched on the Little Palace, blending in well with the shadows. Instead, she was reminded of when she was around this girl’s age, and her dearest friend helped her ready for an entirely different _fete_. 

“My lady?” 

The girl looked nothing like Genya, of course. Plain and mouse-like. It was why Alina had chosen her as her personal maid; the girl looked so much like another dead girl from Alina’s past.

She looked like Alina. 

“Forgive me. I have a lot on my mind,” the queen apologized. She didn’t bother to flick a fake smile at the girl. “What is your name again?”

“Nelly, _moi tsarista_.” Nelly gave a little bow, and Alina watched as a strand of perfectly boring brown hair escaped her clip. “I asked if you liked your hair. I can do it another way.”

Alina turned to stare at herself in the mirror. She was still radiant, despite the overall exhaustion that colored her face. Her hair was starlight, but her eyes held the depths of hell. She was a sight to behold, certainly, and her large stomach battled her for the attention. Her hair, though. That was the focus. Not the way she presented herself, not Nikolai skulking around, not her infernal husband. 

“It’s fine the way it is.” A smirk curled at the corner of her lips as she glanced at Nelly. “I always did _love_ being prodded into perfection.”

The girl didn’t know if she should be horrified or laugh, and her face contorted into something similar to the look of constipation. Alina did her best to not laugh at the poor girl, but her best was just not good enough anymore.

“Help me up,” Alina said. “I need to find shoes I won’t kill myself in.”


End file.
